Moments
by Ceylon205
Summary: A series of one-shots depicting unwritten moments in The Hunger Games, Catching Fire and Mockingjay -CF and MJ spoilers-
1. Flashbacks

**A/N: **May as well add a little explanation of what exactly this will be… Basically a series of random, pretty pointless one-shots of scenes before, during, or after scenes in The Hunger Games and Catching Fire. Not going to be uploaded in any order. Hopefully it'll become more clear as we go on. I'm not sure how many I'll write.

This scene: **CF** In the train that brings Peeta and Katniss to the Capitol for the Quell. Before Katniss has a nightmare and goes to watch Haymitch's Games with Peeta.

**Haymitch**

I hate this, being sober. My mind, normally clouded by alcohol, is all too clear right now. Lying in bed, tossing and turning, my hatred for the Capitol comes back full force. It's because of them, the filthy bastards, that I haven't gotten a decent night's sleep since my name was reaped 25 long years ago. I rip off the sheets angrily and decide to head the kitchen and get a drink. It's not the healthiest choice, but screw it, I gave up on being healthy when I was lying on the grass, weakly holding my intestines in.

I shake my head at the memories and tear down the hallways, ignoring the Avoxes I shove as I walk- run- to the kitchen. I only slow down when I see a light shining out of the room where we watched the reaping on T.V. I peer in and see Peeta studiously taking notes on the victors. He's watching Chaff's- good old Chaff- efforts in the Games.

"Go to bed kid," I say, startling him. He turns around and pauses the video. Kid looks stressed, not that I blame him. I feel glad as hell that he volunteered. Not to mention guilty. But it's nothing a couple of drinks won't fix.

"I need to watch these," he replies, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "How are we supposed to win if we don't know what we're up against?"

It's a rhetorical question, but I shake my head. "What do you mean 'we' kid? It's either you or the girl, not both."

"If she wins I do too, you know that," he says softly. The boy's head over heels in love with her. Don't know why personally. She's likable enough when she wants to be, or when she's in front of a camera, but otherwise she's one snappish little shrew. Although somehow she's gotten this rebellion going. I don't think even she knows how a couple of little berries set this off.

"Still set on having her win?" I demand. Pity, I like Peeta. He's a better person than Katniss- or me- and doesn't deserve what will inevitably happen. The kid's gonna die, and he looks like he knows it too.

"Yes, I-" Peeta's interrupted by a terror-filled shriek, and for a millisecond, I'm back in the arena, hearing Maysilee screaming, and desperately trying to help her before- Damn it, I need a drink to stop these flash-backs. I've had enough of them for one night, so I focus in on Peeta, who, surprisingly, is still rooted in place rather than going to Katniss. I've wandered the train enough nights to know about her nightmares, and the reason why they're sleeping together. But apparently not tonight.

"You're not going?"

Peeta looks pained as he clenches his jaw and sits down. "No, I don't think she… wants me there tonight." He grabs the remote and turns the T.V. back on, but it's easy for even me to see how much it's costing him to not rush chivalrously to her rescue. I hesitate before quickly patting his back once, and I move to the door.

"'Night Haymitch," he says softly. Poor kid. A good person, in a bad situation. Just like Maysilee-

I hurry to my drink.


	2. Rebel

**A/N If/when you review (please do review, I really appreciate it!), if you have a request for a character or a scene (or both), that you'd like me to do, please let me know, because once I run out of ideas I'll have to stop! :)**

This scene: **CF **Katniss mentions that Gale helps her, Peeta, and Haymitch train for the Games. This is one of those moments.

**Gale**

I wonder if this is as strange for Katniss as it is for me. Judging from her frown and the way her eyes keep flicking between me and Mellark, I'd say so.

I don't want to do this. Not now, and certainly not with _him_. Doing this makes the Quell all too real, and the realization that I'm going to be losing Katniss- _again_- all too painful. But she asked me to help them, and her, get ready for the Quell, and besides, this is a good excuse to spend more time with her, even if the bread boy has to be there too. And the drunk, Haymitch, but he barely counts. He just stands there, either listening to my explanations or watching me, Katniss, and Mellark talk with a sardonically amused smirk on his face.

"Okay, you knot it here," I explain, finishing the snare, "and there you go." I keep my eyes focused on Katniss, rather than looking at Peeta, who I'm actually talking to.

"It's a really easy snare to do, but it does the job really well," Katniss adds to Peeta, who's looking at me with a disgruntled look on his face. Obviously, he's not enjoying this any more than I am.

"Okay, now you do it," I order him, flicking my eyes to him briefly. "And you too," I add curtly to Haymitch, who has that smirk on his face again. As he walks by me I smell the alcohol that he seems to be drenched in.

"Aye aye sir," he slurs, crouching down near the rope next to Mellark.

"Still dead drunk, huh?" I ask Katniss, allowing myself to smile just a little. With her, even if we're with two people I can't stand, I can still smile.

"We're trying to ease him off it, but-"

"You're failing miserably," I finish teasingly. She laughs abashedly, and I smile. I love her laugh. I love her so much. And soon she's going to be back in the Games, back to pretending she's in love with Mellark- and they're _engaged_ now!

The Capitol. It's their fault. Because of them, Katniss and I aren't hunting right now. Because of them she'll soon be sent to her death for the second time in a row. Because of them I was whipped. Because of the Capitol I'm so poor my little brothers and sister are always hunger, and we're better off than some.

We need to rebel.

But I know Katniss wouldn't approve, and besides, Mellark is standing up now, running a hand through the blond hair that is a blaring sign that he's well off. I look over, expecting to see a disaster, but no, a very neat snare is lying on the ground. I pick it up, and, though I hate to admit it, it's damn good, especially for a first try.

"Not bad," I admit grudgingly. Katniss laughs, smiling teasingly at me.

"Oh come on Gale, it's excellent."

"All right, he did do better than your first try Catnip," I retort with a smirk. She shoves me.

We need to rebel, because if we don't, there will never be moments like this again.


	3. Like Mother Like Daughter

**A/N This one's very short, but I think I said everything I wanted to. Also, the next "chapter" is sort of a companion piece to this one. Kinda. If you squint and tilt your head a little. Also, I'd still love some prompts, so don't be shy!**

**Also, I borrowed Katniss' mom's name from WindowChild's lovely fics "My Little Flour" and "For Us".**

This scene: **THG** When Peeta's father watches Peeta tell Katniss the story of when he first saw her, and how Mr. Mellark wanted to marry Mrs. Everdeen.

**Mr. Mellark**

My son is a wonderful speaker. Even as a small child, he had a special gift with words. And now, one arm around Katniss, he speaks.

"'See that little girl? I wanted to marry her mother, but she ran off with a coal miner.'"

I wonder whether Lillian is watching this… Probably. We are all forced to watch these Games, and now that her daughter is in them, her eyes will be glued to the screen, her fingers absently twisting together as they always do when she's nervous. Unless she doesn't do that anymore?

Her daughter is like her, and yet unlike. She's strong, like Lillian. I always admired her strength and courage, helping the sick and wounded, tending to them like I never could. Katniss is stubborn too, like Lillian, but she's more confident in a way that quiet Lillian never was. And they are both so blind.

Katniss is undoubtedly blind to my son's love for her, that deep, tender love that only one with a heart as big as my son's can have. Just like Lillian, Katniss is so blind when it comes to love.

My only hope is that, unlike me, my son will have happiness in the end.


	4. Like Father Like Daughter

**A/N This is the "companion" piece of the previous one-shot, seeing as they kind of go along the same scene. Enjoy, and please review! I'd also like to add that instead of updating every second day (as I've been doing), the update time will be a little longer for a while because of my busy schedule at the moment.**

This scene:** THG **While Prim and Mrs. Everdeen watch Katniss' and Peeta's reunion after the Games.

**Mrs. Everdeen**

"Mom, when is Katniss coming on?" Prim asks anxiously, biting her lip as she watches Caesar Flickerman on T.V.

"Soon," I say softly, brushing a hand down her silky blond hair. "Soon."

Katniss won. My daughter is safe.

We pretended, of course, that this was no surprise, that we knew she would win in the end. "She never breaks her promises," Prim had said. But I had doubted, so many times, whether just this once Katniss had lied. When her mind was invaded by traker jacker poison, when the little girl she trusted in the Games was murdered, when that horrible girl with the knives had her pinned, when the muttations were howling for her blood, and most of all, when I thought she'd die by her own hand, I doubted. After all, like father like daughter, and her father, who never broke his promises, had broken one.

He hadn't come back.

My hand tightens on Prim's and I brush her hair again, just for something to do.

"Oh!" Prim exclaims, and I turn to the T.V. just as the camera zooms in on Katniss, who has just entered, her eyes blinking rapidly against the bright lights.

She looks beautiful and healthy and so unlike the terrified, starving girl that we watched just a little while ago, but she is my daughter, and the knowledge that she's safe brings tears to my eyes.

Her eyes lock onto something off-screen, and the camera zooms out to reveal Peeta Mellark standing a meter away. The announcers sigh dreamily as Katniss launches herself at him and buries her face in his neck.

"She must love him, don't you think Mom?" Prim asks, tilting her neck to see me. "I always thought Katniss and Gale would get married."

I laugh as we watch them embrace. It's so much easier to laugh now that my daughter is safe. "She's only 16 Prim."

"But she loves Peeta," Prim replies, her forehead wrinkling.

"Sometimes you can love someone and not marry them," I say quietly. "Sometimes you can even love two people." I close my eyes and stroke her beautiful blond hair. In appearance she looks so little like her father she may as well be-

I stop myself there. I have stopped thinking about the "ifs" and the "may as well be's" a long time ago.

"Oh," Prim says. "They look happy though," she comments with a bright smile as Peeta shoves Caesar Flickerman aside and continues to kiss my daughter.

"I'm sure she's very happy with him."

"Like you and Mr. Mellark?" Prim asks with the simple curiosity of a twelve-year-old. Ever since Peeta's story she's asked questions.

"Just like us."

But maybe the ending will be different.


	5. Happy And Sad

**A/N I'll start working on the prompts as soon as I get a copy of Catching Fire… This one's a little different and is basically all dialogue. *shrug* I wanted to explore how Prim feels about Peeta, but I might go more in-depth in another one- it was fun writing Prim. Reviews are very much appreciated!**

This scene: **CF** Not mentioned in the book, but how I imagine a scene after the Games between Prim and Peeta would be like.

**Prim**

"Hello?" I ask timidly, stepping nervously into the bakery. I've gone in here before, but never alone. Katniss is gone hunting with Gale again, like every Sunday, so Mom sent me.

No one's there, so I turn to admire the cakes by the window. They're so pretty that I just stand there, admiring the bright, happy colors. They look so cheerful compared to the dusty, coal-coated streets.

"You like them?" Someone asks, and I turn, startled. A blond boy, Peeta, is leaning against the counter.

"I love them," I reply, prompted by his bright smile. He looks nice. I can see why Katniss loves him. "Who makes them?"

"I do," he says, walking around the counter so he's standing beside me. "Prim, right?"

"Yes. And you're Peeta," I say with a smile.

"We've never been officially introduced," he says seriously, extending a hand. "Nice to meet you."

"You too," I say, shaking his hand. "Thank you for helping my sister," I add quickly. His eyes flicker downwards.

"She helped me more," he says with a smile, but now it looks forced. "So, anyways," he says quickly, changing the subject, "did you need something or did you just come to admire the cakes?"

"That one please," I say, pointing to a cheese-filled bread. After I've paid for it I add, "it's Kartniss' favorite."

His sad smile is back on. "I made those too you know."

"Why are you so sad?" I ask suddenly. I can't stand how sad he looks. "Shouldn't you be happy?"

He laughs a little. "You're pretty observant Prim," he comments, not answering. "Your sister can be so dense sometimes."

"Are you sad because of Katniss?" I ask, understanding. He stares at me with his sad, bright blue eyes.

"Yeah," he answers simply.

"Oh… I bet she'd apologize if she knew."

"That wouldn't really change anything," he replies softly. "Besides, it's not… really her fault."

"Oh…" I trail off, unsure, before looking outside. "I have to bring this back."

"Bye, and don't- don't tell Katniss I said anything, okay? I'm sure she's dealing with enough as it is," he adds.

"Okay... Bye Peeta." I hesitate before adding, "and thank you for everything. You helped her a lot you know." And it's true. Katniss is really strong, but after what happened to... Rue- it's funny how much it hurts to think about her- I know she would've had trouble going on without him.

"Thanks," he says, and his smile doesn't look so forced anymore.

I can definitely see why Katniss loves him.

* * *

**Prompt: **This is for an anonymous reviewer (who signed with a smiley face) who requested a Prim piece.


	6. For Her

**A/N **I finally got a copy of the books, so I'll be working on the prompts soon. I'm really busy though, so I doubt I'll be able to write anything new for a while. Sorry. Thank you to those who reviewed, I really appreciate it.

This scene: **THG** Before the muttation scene with Katniss, Peeta, and Cato.

**Cato**

Today, she's going to die. I can feel it. And she's finally going to pay for everything she's done to me.

As I straighten my armor, I can't help but think of Clove. She should be here with me, like we planned. We'd planned to kill her together, from the beginning. But now…

_Stop it_, I order myself. I can't think of this right now. I need to concentrate.

Besides, once I win there'll be plenty of time to think about her. Too much.

I continue to walk, holding my sword lightly in one hand as I walk. _Soon_, I remind myself. The girl on fire and Lover Boy. He played us all, and if he thinks he's going to get away with it, he's sorely mistaken. I'll kill him first, not wasting too much time, and then work on her. She'll get a slow, painful death for what she did to Clove. Just like Thresh, she'll suffer before she finally feels the peace of death.

I'm just resting beneath a tree, gathering my strength for the final battle, when I hear howling. I spin around, unsheathing my sword as I do. A final trick from the Gamemakers.

Snarls from behind, and I turn to see a pair of glowing yellow eyes blink at me. They step out slowly, and I know the cameras are trained on me. Their entrance is for the audience.

As I back up slowly, one of them catches my eye. Bright fur, glimmering green eyes…

Glimmering… Glimmer.

Even as I think this, my eyes flick to its (her?) neck and see the collar, with a "1" printed on it. But if Glimmer's here, that must mean that-

That's when I see her.

Lithe and strong, with dark fur the exact shade of her hair, and dark, almond-shaped eyes with that little glint of gold in them. Clove.

I'm running faster than I ever have before, _not_ to Clove but _away_ from her, or whatever that muttation is. I have ceased to care. All I care about is getting away from them. Far away, as far as I can.

I'm running, running to the Cornucopia, and all I can do is hope that Clove is at peace. That no matter what the Capitol has done, she hasn't suffered. That's supposed to be the deal, right, when you die? Peace?

I have a feeling I may find out soon enough. But I'll fight to the end anyway. For her.


	7. Mayor's Daughter

**A/N **Madge mentions rifling through newspapers for news of the rebellions. Not exactly canon, but I (and Medea Smyke, from whom I "stole" that idea) figure she must have had some idea of the rebellions, and maybe a minor role in them, being the mayor's daughter.

This scene: **CF** Depicts what Madge was doing during and after the Victory Tour.

**Madge**

Looking back, there were two events that brought me to where I am now, that made me who I am and made me do what I'm doing. Without them, I have no doubt that I would still have been content with my life as mayor's daughter.

Before I met Katniss, I was perfectly satisfied with my life. I was relatively rich, compared to the other people of my district. I was relatively happy- no life is perfect, but mine was better than most, and I was completely guilt free.

Then, when Katniss and I became friends- or closer, at any rate- I felt a little guilty. We were the same age, but she was already dealing with so much more than I was. But it wasn't enough to move me to action.

Then there was Gale. Strong, accusatory Gale, who made me feel so inferior. But it wasn't until, the day of the 74th Hungry Games, when he said _"What can you have? Five entries? I had six when I was just twelve years old" _that I really felt anything. And I felt angry. Angry that he thought himself better than me just because I was rich and barely had any chance of being reaped. How was being fortunate a bad thing?

I understand now. I understand that it wasn't (only) my wealth that made him angry, but my inaction. My total indifference to the starving people I saw every day when I walked by the Seam or passed the Hob.

But at the time I was angry, and I resolved that one day, somehow, I'd prove I was just as good as he was. But I didn't know what to do.

Until a little twelve-year-old girl named Rue was murdered for the enjoyment of the Capitol.

And that's when I knew what to do. When the chance arose, I'd help overthrow the Capitol. There were already signs of unrest in the district, even before the 'berries incident'. And Rue had given me reason to fight, and a good reason too, not just to prove to some inconsequential- as I liked to refer to Gale - boy that I wasn't just some rich, complacent mayor's girl.

So that's why I'm rifling through my father's papers right now, searching for more hints of the ongoing rebellions.

It's for little Rue, who was murdered, for Katniss, whose life is being taken over by the Capitol, for Peeta, who wasn't allowed to just love, and for all the people of Panem who are suffering.

Or so I tell myself.

I need to convince myself all this does not come back to some inconsequential boy.

* * *

**Prompt: **This is for the lovely Medea Smyke-writer of some fantastic Gale/Madge fics-, who requested a Madge one-shot. A "light" (okay, rather heavy) sprinkling of Gale/Madge just for you :)


	8. Limit

**A/N **Sorry for the delay! I've been really busy. Thanks for the reviews, they're so nice to read! About this moment… I'm a little unsure about it. It ended up being a little humorous in the end, and I'm not sure about how it turned out. So reviews are especially appreciated :)

This scene: **CF **During the Victory Tour when Peeta proposes to Katniss

**Hazelle**

I hold Posy in my arms as I sit on the couch beside Gale. He barely reacts, eyes glued to the T.V.

"It's like he's frozen," Rory comments, poking Gale on the leg. He rolls his eyes and bats his hand away,

"Rory, stop it," he snaps, and I frown.

"Gale, apologize," I admonish; Rory rolls his eyes in return and sits on the floor at my feet.

"Can I hold Posy, Mom?" Rory asks, prying her from my arms as he speaks.

"Shh!" Gale hisses, smacking Rory again. He turns the volume up.

"-thrilled to present Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark, the victors of the 74th Hunger Games!" Caesar Flickerman shouts, his bright smile standing out against his abnormally colored skin.

Gale needs to stop watching this. He's watched the entire Victory Tour, even though I know it's only making him angrier and angrier. But he won't listen, being the stubborn, headstrong boy that he is, and I know that once he reaches his limit he'll stop hurting himself like this. Judging from the way he's been acting, he's almost reached that limit. But there's no point in my telling him so.

Katniss and Peeta walk on stage, hand in hand (Gale clenches his jaw), and sit down on the loveseat together. Caesar and Peeta joke effortlessly while Katniss just smiles, speaking every now and again. Gale mutters angrily under his breath.

"So, have you tried kissing her yet?" Rory demands, his eyes gleaming, mouth split into a wide grin.

"None of-"

"Rory," I sigh.

"What? I'm tired of Gale moping over her. He should just kiss her already. That or kill Peeta."

"I'm thinking about it," Gale mutters.

My son is so in love with Katniss that he's blind to anything else. But what can I do? Katniss herself doesn't seem to know who to pick. I wish, for my son's sake, that she'll figure herself out soon. Because she's hurting him so much.

"I've been waiting for the right moment," Peeta is saying when I turn my attention back to the T.V. "And I think now's it. After all, without the Capitol we'd never be together."

"Got that right," Gale grumbles, clenching his jaw together. "I bet he's going to-"

I don't know what Gale was betting Peeta would do, but I don't think going down on one knee was it. And that's what he does.

Before any of us can react, Gale is tearing out of the living room. I hear the door slam as he heads out to the forest.

My son has reached his limit.

"I still think he should've kissed her."


	9. Charge

**A/N **Sorry that my updates are taking longer and longer to come, I've been really busy lately. Thank you to everyone who reviewed!

This scene: **CF **The prepping before the interviews preceding the Quell

**Portia**

No matter how hard I try, I have never really been able to understand Peeta Mellark, my newest "charge". "Charge" isn't the right word, but I am his stylist, and I've spent hours with Cinna designing his and Katnniss' outfits, so I suppose it'll have to do.

Katniss, from what I've seen and heard of her, is far more straight-forward. She's the bad liar, the loving sister, the cold, hard survivor, the girl on fire. She remains quiet during interviews, looking awkward, like she'd like nothing more than to be somewhere else (in the woods, maybe? It seems pretty clear that she didn't learn her archery skills in a training school). And while she is the instigator of a rebellion- as a few of us here in the Capitol are aware of-, that too was just an instinctual reaction, like so many of the other things she did in the Games.

But Peeta… At first glance, he would seem like her opposite. He's artistic, compassionate, not very physical, kind, patient, and one of the most moving speakers I have ever heard, especially one so young, And yet, I have seen glimpses of another Peeta, a harder, less emotional one. When he fought Cato to protect Katniss, he was undoubtedly very good, and it had come as a surprise to many to see "Lover Boy" fight Cato, the killing-machine. And when, in District 11, he shoved a Peacekeeper's gun away from Katniss, there was again that flash of a much more serious boy than the light-hearted one who sits in his chair right now, charming the prep team-just like always. And yet, he looks anxious and very tired. I have a lot of work to do. As I walk in, the prep team bids Peeta farewell, promises to look in on him before he enters the Quell, and leaves.

"You look tired," I comment, shaking my head at the dark shadows under his bright blue eyes- a color that many people of the Capitol have gotten surgeries to achieve.

"I haven't really been able to sleep," he admits, flashing me an apologetic smile. "Sorry."

"Don't be silly," I laugh, grabbing the make-up. "You'll look fabulous."

"Of course."

"So, do you have your interview planned?" I ask curiously. The Capitol is buzzing with curiosity about his speech. "Everyone wants to know whether you can top last year's."

"I'm coming up blank," he sighs, rubbing his eye tiredly. I slap it away. "Sorry. I have no idea what to say, I'm hoping I'll be suddenly inspired. I wouldn't want to disappoint the audience," he adds with a little smile. I respond with one of my own as I fix his hair.

"I'm sure you'll figure something out," I say reassuringly. I bite my lip a little as I remember the risk Cinna is taking with Katniss' dress. While seeing it transform into the symbol of the rebellion going on right now will certainly "inspire" Peeta, I am terrified of the repercussions this might have on Cinna, Or, of course, me.

"Portia?" He asks gently, frowning at my reflection in the mirror. I force a smile on my face.

"What's it like, never having to shave?" I ask, quickly changing the subject. His eyes narrow a little, but he goes along and rubs his stubble-free cheek a little ruefully.

"It was handy in the Games of course, but still… How long before it wears off? Assuming that I don't go through the whole procedure again?"

"A long time," I say with a grin, adding the finishing touches to his face. "You won't need to shave for a good five, six years. Now," I say, dusting my hands. I look distastefully at the black bag that houses his interview costume. "I have your costume. I…" I hesitate before saying softly, "I'm sorry."

"What do you mean?" Peeta asks suspiciously.

"Take a look," I say simply, holding the bag to him. His eyes widen as he pulls out the garment.

It's a simple, elegant black tux. Black, shiny buttons adorn it, as well as a beautiful white rose on the lapel. White gloves are temporarily attached to the sleeve. The traditional garb of a groom. He rubs the gloves between his fingers.

"It's very nice," he says finally, quietly. The pain in his eyes is tangible, and as I look at him, at his pain, my fear at what Cinna and I have done disappears. The consequences don't matter. I may not understand Peeta, but I know one thing.

He does not deserve this.

* * *

**Prompt: **For the anonymous reviewer who signed with a smiley face. Thanks for the many prompts!


	10. Secrets

**A/N **To all those who have reviewed: thank you! And, since this is a little Katniss/Peeta, a plug: Medea Smyke- yes, I'm a huge fan- is currently writing a Magde/Gale Katniss/Peeta fic that I would highly recommend.

This scene: **CF **When Katniss hurt her ankle and Peeta came to visit.

**Mrs. Everdeen**

I press my fingers lightly against Katniss' ankle, and she winces.

"Well, from what you've told me you seem to have come out of it pretty well. Slipping on ice could've resulted in far worse," I say with a little smile. I know there's more to her story, and, knowing my daughter, it probably involves woods and illegal activities.

I worry about her. More than she knows or guesses, I'm sure. She's horribly blind to the feelings of the people around her, so I'm certain she has no idea of how much I love her and want her to be safe. But of course, after everything she's been through and done for me-and Prim- I can hardly ask her to refrain from putting herself in danger. That would be like asking her not to be herself, something I will never do.

"Good," she says, twitching her ankle away from my probing fingers. "I want to walk around."

"You won't be able to do that for a while," I say, brushing away her hair. "And don't sneak around, you'll hurt yourself.

"Mother," she starts, frowning, but then the bell rings and I rise. Setting the cup of tea on her night table, I go down the stairs and open the door.

"Peeta!" I smile. "Come in."

"Thank you," he returns the smile as he steps in, a box under one arm.

Peeta's resemblance to his father hits me every time I see him, and it's not only the physical resemblances. Yes, his bright, light-hearted smile resembles Grant's exactly, as do the twinkling blue eyes, the wavy blond hair. However, it's also the way he looks at people, so piercingly, or the way he always seems to know exactly what to say that remind me of Grant. I can't help, deep down in some part of me that I refuse to acknowledge, feel glad that Peeta is so untouched by his mother. When it comes to Peeta there are many things I don't admit, like how I already care about him more than I should, like how every night during the Games, when I wasn't hoping for Katniss to come back I was hoping the victor would be him, like how, if I had chosen a little differently, he might be my son.

Yes, there are many things, and I keep them buried far away, so no one, not Katniss, not Prim, not Peeta, and certainly not Grant, will ever know I even think them.

"Hi Peeta!" Prim exclaims happily as she walks in. "What's in the box?"

He opens it up to reveal cheese buns. "You said they were her favorite."

I laugh softly as I look at them. "They're my favorite too."

"I know," he blurts out, before reddening a little and looking down. "My dad mentioned it once,"

I say nothing and watch Prim eat one silently. And I try not to think of Grant's warm hand and cheese buns and nights I wished would never end.

"Mom, who's down there?" Katniss calls, sounding a little irritated. I know she hates being an invalid.

"Can I go up?" Peeta asks, picking up the box. I nod.

"Is he like Mr. Mellark?" Prim asks curiously, when he's gone.

"Yes," I whisper. Of his two brothers, he is the most like Grant. The eldest son is the most like their mother, while the middle brother has characteristics of both his parents. I've kept an eye on them too, another secret.

Ten minutes later, when I go up to take Katniss' cup of tea, I look in and pause by the door, unseen,

He's lying beside her, fully clothed on top of the covers, our book of herbs and plants in his hands. They're silent, but it's a comfortable silence. He looks very serious, and she has her head tilted to the side and seems to be looking at him closely. They look so quietly content and comfortable that it hurts.

I loved my husband. So much. But I told Prim the truth when I said that you could love two people. And watching my daughter with the son of a man I loved-love?- I'm jealous.

Because my daughter is living a life I could have lived, once.

* * *

**Prompt: **For _pea blue_, who wanted to know Mrs. Everdeen's thoughts on Peeta.


	11. Victor

**A/N **My first one from Peeta's POV! I was really hesitant to do one from his POV for a while because I really wanted to get him perfectly (or as perfectly as I can). I find way too many people make him only ever think of Katniss, and THG and CF have shown he's more than that. Hopefully I've shown that! Also, to my anonymous reviewers (I would name you but there are quite a few), I wish I could thank you all personally :) Thanks so much to everyone who's taken the time to review!

This scene: **CF **Anytime before the Victory Tour.

**Peeta**

_It's very dark. I can't see a thing. Then, a little speck of light, and suddenly it's bright again. Katniss is lying in a pool of blood, her hair stained bright red with it as the blood seeps from the cut above her eyebrow._

"_Katniss?" I whisper. "Katniss?" But she doesn't move, just lies there in the blood._

_The scene shifts, and in my hand are berries. Bright red like the blood as I slide them past my lips. Katniss has turned around- _that's wrong, I wasn't able to see her_- as the blood-berries go down her throat. Her eyes fall shut as blood pours from her throat and out her mouth and seeps out her eyes, and I'm yelling, shaking, trying to stem the blood, something-_

I wake up with a gasp, sweat covering my face as my eyes snap open. I take deep, cleansing breaths of cool air as I sit up in bed. The house is utterly silent now. Across the street, Katniss' house is dark and still. I can see Haymitch's silhouette as he paces, a bottle in one hand, a knife in the other.

I roll out of bed and wipe my face with my hand. I can't seem to get away from the Games. Just like Haymitch and Katniss (sometimes, when I'm awake after a nightmare I hear her scream, and it takes everything I have not to comfort her somehow), I'm plagued by memories that, no matter what I do, won't go away. Haymitch has been dealing with life as a "victor"-because have we actually won?-for almost 25 years, but it doesn't seem to be getting any better. Am I going to be like that? Another drunk, bitter man at the reaping? I hope not. I still don't want the Games to change me. But they already are. My dreams were never so morbid before the Games. Now all I dream about is death and blood and death. And Katniss, but that's hardly new.

I walk to my desk where a blank sheet of canvas lies and pick up my paintbrush. Now that I'm richer than everyone in the Seam put together, I can afford fancy things like paint. Because I'm a victor. (It isn't like me to be so bitter. Another thing winning the Games has changed about me.)

I splatter the canvas with red. It looks like blood as it seeps down the paper gruesomely, and I shudder and crumple it up. I pick up my paintbrush and start to paint the first thing that comes to my head. Which, naturally, is Katniss.

I still love her. Even though I see her go off with Gale every Sunday, even though I know everything, _everything, _is and was an act. Even now that, as a victor, I can in all probability have any girl in the Capitol. I love _her_, this strong beautiful girl who will never, ever, love me back.

So who's the real victor here? Me?

Or the Capitol?

* * *

**Prompt: **For the anonymous reviewer who signed with a smiley face and _Manawyrmz_, who both requested a piece from Peeta's POV. Thanks for reviewing!


	12. Disgust

**A/N **Sorry for the long delay. I have a couple more one-shots saved on my computer, but I haven't written anything in a while :( Damn you writer's block! Prompts are _most _welcome *pleading look* Also, with regards to this piece, I took some liberties: I assume that most people from the Seam don't go into the Victor's Village. As well, since there's never any indication that Hazelle knew Maysilee, I'm assuming they never spoke.

This scene: **CF **The first time Hazelle goes to clean Haymitch's house.

**Hazelle**

I can't help but hesitate as I stand in front of Haymitch Abernathy's house in the Victor's Village. To quell my irrational anxiety, I look around. This is one of my only times actually _inside _the Victor' Village, and I know Rory, Vick, and Posy- not Gale, of course- will want to hear what it's like.

The two houses belonging to Peeta and Katniss are nicely kept, but looking at this one I see I have a lot of work to do. Paint is peeling, the yard, despite the gardener, is in deplorable condition, and through a window I can see the interior is hardly any better. Grime coats the windows, and I grimace a little as I knock on the door. I hear Haymitch's heavy steps before he opens the door.

The smell nearly knocks me over. It absolutely reeks of alcohol, filth, and I shudder to think of what else. My house, containing myself and four children- one of them a small child, no less- smells like a garden compared to this. But at least Haymitch looks sober.

"Who are you?" Haymitch asks. I glare because he knows who I am.

"Hazelle Hawthorne. Katniss commissioned me to clean your house. I can see why," I can't help adding.

"Ha ha," he grumbles, stepping aside. As I brush by I'm made aware of the fact that he smells no better than his house.

"This is absolutely disgusting," I inform him coolly. The floor is littered with bottle and grime.

"Who cares?" He demands, picking up a bottle from the floor and tilting it back, tapping the bottom to get what little remains to drip down. I sigh deeply and move to the stairs.

"I'll start at the top and work my way down," I inform him.

"How much am I paying you?"

"We'll figure that out once you've seen my work," I reply. That is my usual policy, and I'm always paid well. Haymitch Abernathy may be repulsive, but he's still from District 12, and I know he'll pay me fairly.

Upstairs is in just as horrible a state as the bottom floor. Dirty clothes cover the floor, but some are clean, and I start to fold those into their drawers. Downstairs, I can hear Haymitch puttering around. Probably looking for more white wine. How foul. Still, I'm grateful to Katniss for getting me this job. We need the money, even with Gale working himself to the bone in the mines.

I'm worried about my son. About him being in the mines. We know how dangerous they are, how people die almost every month, and even more often now. To think that there are men like Haymitch, choking in riches that they waste on white wine! I don't understand this need for oblivion.

I gather the pile of clothes and open the bottom drawer, where there are even more bottles. I move them aside, as well as a worn black cloth spread across the bottom to make room for the clothes.

And come across a picture of a girl. A candid photo, taken, judging by the quality, by the Capitol. Even dressed in a hideous miner's outfit, she is very pretty. Sharp, playful features, bright blond merchant's hair, and a little smile as she talks to a young woman with pale orange skin who must be her stylist. I frown because she looks familiar, but I can't remember from where.

"I thought you were supposed to be cleaning," Haymitch says harshly as I stand up suddenly, the photo still clutched in my hand. His eyes are a little red, and I figure he must have been drinking while I was up here, although he still looks sober.

"Who is this?" I ask, ignoring his comment. The memory tugs at my mind, but when I try to grasp it, it eludes me. Haymitch's blood-shot eyes flicker.

"Someone I used to know."

"What happened to her?"

"The Capitol… took her… a long time ago." He grabs a half-full bottle from the bed and goes back down.

I put the picture away- I still can't remember who she is, probably some past victor who got assimilated by the Captiol- and continue cleaning.

* * *

**Prompt: **For _Medea Smyke_. Thanks for the awesome prompt!


	13. Mockingjay

**A/N **Thanks so much for those who reviewed, and especially to the people who prompted me. My writer's block is pretty much gone, so here's another chapter for you guys. I'm not totally happy with it, so concrit and feedback are very welcome.

This scene: **CF **When Cinna and Portia receive the Quarter Quell outfits commissioned by President Snow.

**Cinna**

I stare blankly at the officer standing on the doorstep.

"I'm sorry? A package, you said? From the _president?_" At my elbow, Portia's face is carefully smooth, wearing the blank mask we both adopt when in public or, in this case, in front of a government official.

"Not a package," he corrects curtly. His voice is surprisingly rough for a Capitol man, his thin lips barely moving as he speaks. He jerks his head to two lower-ranking men standing behind him, and from the limousine they rode in they take out two long garment bags, the kind Portia and I use to protect delicate costumes. We both frown.

"What is this for exactly?" Portia asks, stepping forward to take the bags. The officer pointedly tends us a letter and walks back to the limo, leaving us to go back in.

"This isn't good," Portia mutters, placing the bags carefully on the couch as she reads aloud the letter:

"_Good afternoon,_

_I would like to extend my congratulations for your excellent work last year for the 74th Hunger Games. As a reward, I have had two costumes delivered that will work very well for the returning tributes, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark._

"Signed President Snow," she finishes. She looks up, emerald green eyes anxious. "Cinna… The President has never commissioned an outfit for a tribute. _Ever."_

"Don't worry Portia." I say calmly, taking her hand reassuringly. "Let's see the outfits first. I'm sure the President has lovely stylists, remember his outfit last year?" I say it jokingly- his outfit is always a plain black tuxedo with a rose- but Portia glares at me.

"Stop it," she mutters. Her free hand shakes as she hesitantly opens the first garment bag. She inhales sharply and I can't suppress the worry that flashes through me.

"Look."

It is a slim, elegant black tuxedo. Cut beautifully, with pair of silk white gloves, this is an unmistakable outfit. The outfit of a groom. Portia's eyes fill with tears.

"Oh Peeta…"

I grab the other bag and tear it open, yanking the dress out harshly. Another outfit that I recognize immediately.

The color of snow, and made of the best silk available, it is without a doubt the best dress I designed for my girl on fire's wedding. She had looked stunning in it, the white accentuating her darker tone, the pearls and silk giving her a delicate look that, with those defiant gray eyes, was quite a feat.

"Peeta loved that dress," Portia comments brokenly. She's still clutching the tuxedo in her long, beautiful hands. Suddenly, she straightens and lets the tuxedo fall. "This is disgusting Cinna."

"I know."

"Well?" She demands, livid. "What are we going to do? We have to do _something._" Her voice lowers. "Otherwise, think of how the rebels will react."

This would totally dishearten them. To see their symbol, their mockingjay, being sent to the slaughter in the outfit she was supposed to be married in? No, Portia is right, something must be done.

"We need everyone to see that even now the rebellion still lives, that it's still important."

"How?"

I turn to the dress and stare at it for a moment before closing my eyes. The girl on fire… The mockingjay. A union of the two concepts? I smile slowly.

"Katniss is still the mockingjay Portia. No matter what. Maybe it's time we showed everyone that."

* * *

**Prompt:** _Koalakoala9836 _requested a piece when Cinna was turning Katniss' wedding dress into the mockingjay one, and this isn't _quite _it, but as close as I got :)


	14. Lies And A Kiss

**A/N **Since I got a bunch of new reviewers last chapter, thanks for taking the time to review! And for those who've stuck around since the beginning… Thank for sticking around :) Don't be afraid to prompt!

This scene: **CF **In District 11, in the Justice Bulding after Katniss and Peeta's speeches in the square.

**Peeta**

As I walk away from the dome of the Justice Building where Katniss and Haymitch are still talking, I realize I'm shaking from anger. I only remember feeling this betrayed once.

When Katniss told me that everything I thought was true in the arena was actually a lie, fabricated for the audience. And the audience believed it all. Just like me.

But this time is almost worse. Because this isn't only about my feelings, this is also about three people who were shot because of me, Because I offered them a gift. At the time, it had seemed right. After all, Thresh and Rue had done so much. They deserved to be thanked. And now… three innocent people were dead.

All because Haymitch and Katniss keep on lying to me.

I lean against the wall and take a deep, shuddering breath. I press my fingers against my eyes and try to calm myself.

"Peeta?" I open my eyes to see Portia looking at me anxiously. "Are you alright? Where are-"

"Haymitch and Katniss?" I ask, forcing myself to smile brightly. "Haymitch was congratulating Katniss on her speech when I left. You know how she usually is in front of cameras."

"Oh." Portia smiles, buying my lie. "Well, you have a little while to relax before prepping, why not make use of it?"

"I was just heading to my room," I say cheerfully. "See you at prepping."

In my room, I'm a little calmer. A little. I'm lying on my bed, trying to clear my mind when there's a knock on my door.

"Haymitch." I sigh it when I see him glaring at me, but I manage to make it sound weary instead of rude. That inherent courtesy my father hammered into me as a child is still ingrained in me.

"Look," he starts, pushing past me and sitting on a chair. "I don't why I'm doing this, but I'm here defending Katniss."

"Excuse me?" I ask, confused. I was expecting a ribbing, sharp words, or at the very least a little derision.

"She's clueless," he says finally. He seems so awkward, sitting there in a velvet chair picking at a loose thread.

"Less than I was until a while ago," I point out, surprisingly calmly.

"You're right. But that wasn't Katniss' decision, that was mine."

I wince. "From now on I want to know what's going on," I repeat.

"Fine," he agrees again, rising. He adds suddenly, before he's out the door, "you shouldn't have yelled at her. She's going through enough. Not that we all aren't." And he shuts the door.

As I sink onto my bed, I know he's right. We're still a part of the Games. I think of her anger after my interview with Caesar Flickerman last year and realize that maybe I'm feeling what she felt then.

But then I remember standing in the dome, listening to Katniss explain everything to me.

_Her eyes are averted as she speaks. "And before he left, President Snow told me- he threatened me and told me he knew about… a kiss."_

"_A kiss?" I repeat, even though I know what's she going to say._

_Her gray eyes flick up to me quickly before dropping again. "A while after we got back from the Games, Gale… Gale kissed me outside of the district."_

_Gale kissed her._

Gale kissed her. Did she kiss Gale? That's what she should've told me.

It's stupid that I feel so betrayed. After all, I don't matter. It's clear who she prefers. I'm the act. I'm for the gullible audience.

Gale is for her.


	15. Odds

**A/N **Wow! More than a 100 reviews! Thank you so much guys :) *ahem* This one was written a while ago, and it was really tough to write. So many people have done their interpretations of this scene, and I really wanted mine to be… unique. Or at least be a different take on this scene. Enjoy!

This scene: **THG **When Foxface eats the poisonous berries.

**Foxface**

I crouch in a thicket of grass and scan the area carefully. No one. Fire Girl is gone- even as I think this she whistles- and Lover Boy is just visible through the trees, digging for roots near the stream.

I tug irritably at my hood. My red hair, the color of the flames the girl has become known for, has been a major vice throughout these Games. I'm good at hiding, but dark hair would be so much better. Oh well. When I win I'll get the Capitol to color it black.

_If_ I win. Do I even want to?

I shake my head, causing my hood to fall again. _Stop thinking like that, _I snap at myself. I don't know whether I want to win, but I don't want to die. ... I think- I mean _no! _Of course I don't want to die! Not like the others.

I've seen so much death. I saw Lover Boy kill that young girl by the dying fire, I saw the bird-girl be sung to as she slipped away, I saw the two monsters fight, and one of them fall.

That was the only time I'd spoken to one of them. The monster had looked so peaceful, despite the gaping wound in his abdomen. The other monster, the angry one, hadn't even had the compassion to give him a clean death. But the big one had just smiled, even as I crawled towards him and whispered _Why are you smiling?_

_I'm glad, _he'd managed to gasp. _Nothing can be worse than this._

Was he right?

Lover Boy's loud steps interrupt my thoughts, and I sink lower into the grass as he dumps a pile of berries onto the stack of food he's already gotten. I wait until he walks away before creeping forward.

I am so hungry. All the sponsors I had either spent all their money on my gift at the Cornucopia or decided to sponsor the lovebirds.

I pop a bit of cheese in my mouth, taking a little here and there, but my fingers pause at the berries. They look familiar and unfamiliar. I vaguely remember, at the Training Center, being warned against a berry, hearing that it could kill you in less than ten seconds. Are these the ones? I don't know. I hesitate.

I could just leave these, but I'm _so _hungry, and I can't risk taking anything else. Or I could eat them, and risk dying. These Games are all about odds. Are the odds in my favor?

Maybe. Not just with these berries but with this whole thing. Cato and the lovers are going to fight soon. Lover Boy doesn't seem like much of a fighter, so he'll probably go down. Unless Fire Girl saves him- she's been as protective of him as a mother bear, so it's possible- and Cato dies. Then it'll be them two and me. And then…

What? I kill them? I wanted to leave these Games with hands unstained by anyone's blood. Which leads me to a good question: are my hands clean, even now? I've let so many people die. I could've helped them. No. The Capitol has made me a killer.

This is the problem. I think too much. Someone's going to be coming soon, so I grab the berries and hurry to hide.

They're so shiny and innocent looking in my rough, cracked hands. That's when I realize that the odds _are _in my favor.

If they're not poisonous, I live to hide another day and possibly come up with a plan. If they_ are_ poisonous, I won't have to worry about blood or guilt or all the things I've done. I'll be free.

A win-win situation. So I throw one in the air and catch it on my tongue.

It's sweet, not like I was expecting.

_I win._

_

* * *

_

**Prompt: **For _gethsemane342_, who requested I do this scene. Thanks for prompting!


	16. Consequences

**A/N **Sorry for totally disappearing for the last... what? Two weeks? Life has been killing me, and last week I went to Washington! It was beautiful by the way :) Now I'm back with one more one-shot before I take a hiatus. I'm way too tired and have not been feeling creative for a while now. Sorry guys. I think I'll be back in May. Leave some nice comments please?

This scene: **THG **The aftermath of sparing Katniss and Peeta's lives for Seneca Crane

**Seneca Crane**

_Katniss Everdeen holds out the poisonous berries to the camera, so that all of Panem can see. Peeta Mallark clutches them in his hand, his eyes oddly empty, either from pain, exhaustion, or a combination of the two along with shock. At my side, Deela Pettel tenses._

"_Seneca!" She hisses. "_Do _something!"_

_I could shoot them. Blow them both to pieces and let the blood of the star-crossed lovers, Panem's seemingly favorite contestant since Finnick Odair, stain the arena. And then what? What would we tell the viewers? That finally, someone had figured out how to beat the system?_

_No. I have two other options: let them both swallow the berries- although that would leave me in the same position as option one- or stop them and let them both live. I'll face serious consequences either way. But I like option three._

_To be quite honest, I like these two. And there's just something about President Snow that makes my skin-_

"Get up." A Capitol official grabs my arm- defeating the purpose of him ordering me at all- and lugs me to my feet, effectively breaking through my thoughts. I stagger as he pulls me along, walking faster than I, a well-fed Capitol man who has spent most of his working life in front of buttons and television screens, can possibly move. Long, nondescript hallways pass me by until I stop in front of an elevator. The guard shoves me through and the doors close.

_Where am I going? _I wonder. I am alone in the elevator, but I cannot possibly escape. Besides, the consequences may not be as severe as I anticipate. They'll certainly fire me, strip me of my money and high standing. Turn my wife into a Avox. But I may be able to keep my tongue and, because of my experience with the Games, I may even be allowed to be kept as an aid for future Gamemakers. Surely everything will be all right.

I try to keep calm, but it's hard. I've been here- wherever _here _is- for two days. Occasionally my thoughts drift to my family, but I am more consumed with worry about my own future.

The doors open.

When I step off, a long white hallway leads to a blank, wide black door. The walk feels like a century, with the cameras that line the walls trained on me the entire time. I prefer life behind the cameras. Until now I never realized how much I hate them. When I walk in, my blood runs cold.

Sitting in a plush chair is President Snow.

He looks larger in real life, and twice as ugly. His blown-up lips are disproportionate to his face, his narrowed eyes snake-like, his large hands that rest on the top of his desk are oddly feminine, long-fingered and adorned with large rings.

He is grotesque, and I shudder as a sweet scent drifts towards me. It reminds me of nights watching children be slaughtered, of the blood that was spilt thanks to me.

"Seneca Crane," he says softly. "Sit down."

Following his command, I sit in the chair in front of him. It is low-seated so that he towers above me.

"Seneca Crane," he repeats, "even as we speak, our _two _victors are being treated for their wounds. Our _two _victors."

"Yes sir," I whisper, unsure of how to respond. Perhaps I may not keep my tongue. I may end up waiting on future tributes.

"Surely you realize what you have done? Don't tell me you're totally ignorant to the trouble you've caused."

"I- what sir? Trouble? Surely the Capitol is thrilled that the star-crossed lovers are-"

"The Capitol is the least of my problems. This girl, Katniss Everdeen, _she _is the problem."

"I thought-"

"You thought wrong!" His voice rises thunderously, and I shrink down lower. Maybe one month of torture before I become an Avox. Or two. "You should have killed them both!"

"But then there wouldn't be-"

"Any victors? Better than these two! Soon enough I'll have a full-scale rebellion to deal with! And Seneca," his voice suddenly becomes smooth, "who's fault is that?"

"… Mine?"

"Yours," he says approvingly. He stands up and beckons to someone behind me. As I turn, hands grab my arm. Two months of torture and solitary imprisonment?

"It's your fault, Seneca Crane. And there will be consequences."

As they lead me away, I am suddenly very glad. For some reason, I have a feeling I did something great when I spared Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark their lives.

* * *

**Prompt: **For _koalakoala9836_, who wanted to know what was going on in Seneca's head when he was about to blow up Katniss and Peeta. Thanks for the prompt!


	17. Everything

**A/N **Sorry for the wait (I seem to be saying that a lot lately), but exams are coming up! But after that… summer! So expect updates to come a little more regularly, hopefully.

This scene: **CF** The reaping at District 4.

**Mags**

Annie shifts restlessly by my side, hopping from one foot to another as our Capitol representative walks up the stairs. I look to the side and see Finnick, his eyes locked on Annie as she shivers and jumps around. He is frowning, she is responding to the tense air despite not fully understanding what is going on.

I stroke her hand gently.

They are all I have. One beautiful, bronze-haired boy and a damaged nightmare-ridden girl. They are all I have, and I must protect them as well as I can. I hope I can do it.

The representative smiles brightly at us, his orange-gold hair shining in the sun. I tighten my grip on Annie's clammy hand and close my eyes. The sound of the surf pounding against the sand is so soothing, like the brush of a gentle hand after a hard day fishing, or the kiss of the sun on a warm afternoon. It's so easy to pretend that-

"Annie Cresta!" I hear Finnick's soft, anguished gasp and Annie turns to him. Her big brown eyes fill with tears as she sees his agony, and I grab her arm as she collapses, overtaken by a round of hysterical crying.

Finnick had spoken to me about this, yesterday. I had promised him, struggling to remember how to form the words so clear in my head, that I would volunteer, and he had cried.

I step in front of Annie and raise my hand. "I-I-I-". I struggle with the sound, I can't remember what words sound like anymore.

"You volunteer?" The representative asks, and I nod emphatically and walk onstage.

Annie is crying as she stares at me. She doesn't understand anything anymore. She lives in her nightmares and sleepwalks during the day, and there is nothing Finnick can do. There is nothing anyone can do. So I must protect her. Because what would happen to Annie, this young woman-girl-so haunted by a past Games?

"Finnick Odair!"

He walks towards me, the son I've always wanted, and I am suddenly so, so afraid. But I must do this. One last thing before I die, as I surely will. I protected Annie and I'll do the same for Finnick.

Because they are all I have.

* * *

**Prompt: **My final response to :) (anonymous reviewer) prompts. S/he requested a piece in Mags' POV. Also a response to _gethsemane342_, who wanted to know how Finnick/Mags felt when Annie was called up. Also a response to _koalakoala9836, _who wanted to write Annie's reaping. Jeez… :)


	18. Second

**A/N **This my 18th chapter! :O I'm shocked I'm still writing these, I've never kept up something like this for so long… :P Thank you guys! Also, as a reminder, Mr. Mellark's name is "Grant".

This scene: **THG **Shortly after the conversation in the cave between Peeta and Katniss, when Peeta talks about seeing Katniss for the first time and Peeta, quoting his father, says " 'See that little girl? I wanted to marry her mother, but she ran off with a coal miner.'"

**Mrs. Mellark**

My cheeks hurt from the smile-however tight and forced it must appear-that I'm required to wear as customers come and go. Naturally, I'd prefer to bake the bread, but I'm not a natural baker. Not that I'm a naturally friendly, behind-the-counter person either. That was always Peeta's realm of expertise.

Peeta. I'm not sure whether to snort or grimace. Of my three sons-_three! I can hardly believe it-_, he is my least favourite. Exactly like his father: bright and cheery and ever so optimistic. And in love with an Everdeen. I don't know what those women have, but men flock to them like bees to honey.

Not that I mind. I couldn't care less who has caught my dear husband's eye (caught and held. His eye hasn't strayed from her for nigh on thirty years). But to have to live with two men enamoured by two Everdeen women is a… strain.

At least the other two work hard, are sensible and practical rather than spending their time frosting cakes or something else ridiculous. Like we even need those idiotic cakes by the window.

I'm still grimacing when a boy enters the shop. I recognize him instantly: Gale Hawthorne, hunter and Peeta's rival for the fair maiden's hand. I let my smile drop; he's not rich enough that I have to pretend I like him. He normally doesn't come here while I'm around- my dear husband is the one with the soft spot for Seam folk, not me- but I haven't given the two a chance to trade in a week. Obviously, the Hawthornes are now hungry for bread.

"Do you have anything to trade?" I ask frostily. He nods and holds out a flank of deer. I've taken hold of it and am weighing it when Grant enters.

"Oh, hello Gale," he says brightly. "Nice catch you have there."

"I'm here to trade it," Gale says tightly, his lips pressed thinly together. Ha! It's easy to see Gale Hawthorne isn't happy with the "star-crossed lovers", as the Capitol has tagged Katniss Everdeen and Peeta.

Grant frowns, confused at the animosity, but grabs a large loaf of bread off the shelf. Far too large, but for once I say nothing. This is amusing. "Here you are, son." He holds out the bread. Gale takes it silently, jaw clenched, and strides out. Grant looks bemused and insulted.

"Those Everdeens know how to catch them," I comment sarcastically, smirking at the Hawthorne boy's retreating figure, clutching the loaf like a lifeline. Poor little Seam boy. Grant jumps, startled, as though he's surprised I know about that.

"What do you mean?" He asks, his voice falsely casual.

"I heard Peeta too," I remind him. "'When he sings, even the birds stop to listen,'" I mock. "Very poetic. And then Lillian ran off with him, some coal miner."

He flushes red but says nothing.

"I guess he wasn't just some coal miner to Lillian, hm?" I ask as I stride out. "Or maybe you were just some boy with the bread."

I may not love my husband, but I can sympathize with Gale Hawthorne. There is nothing worse than knowing you're only second best.


	19. Song

**A/N **I'm off for a week, so leave me some reviews? And I am still taking requests, although it may take me a while to write them up. It's the summer now, so hopefully I'll be a little more productive.

This scene: **THG **The aftermath of the Games for one family.

**Wisp**

"Wisp?" Papa asks, stroking my hair gently. "Are you sure you don't want to come with us?"

I nod silently. My throat is too clogged with tears to talk. Once they shut the door behind them, I sink to the floor and pull my knees to my chest. The dark skin of my knees and legs are scarred by years of climbing on and falling from trees, the hands that grip my elbows rough and covered with- calluses, Mama called them. I poke at the blister on my thumb until it pops and try to keep in the tears.

_Please. Why can't you come back?_ I squeeze my eyes shut and shudder.

The door creaks open and I scramble to my feet, rubbing my eyes with the heel of my hand. Mama is leaning against Papa, her face hidden in his shoulder. Papa brushes my cheek as he walks by. I pause before opening the door.

Inside, it's very beautiful. I've only ever been in here once, when we came to say bye. And even then it wasn't so silent.

It lies in the center of the room, a little to the back, surrounded by bright flowers. It looks so happy. It shouldn't. I walk slowly to the open coffin and peer inside.

She looks exactly like she looked whenever I curled up next to her at the end of a long day in the orchards. Her hair is framing her face, something resembling a smile on her face. Her face is framed by flowers too, and around her neck is the star necklace I gave to her before she left. She said she liked it even though Papa is so much better at carving than I am. I still have a scar on my palm from where I cut myself trying to make it.

With all the flowers, Rue looks like she did when Katniss sang to her with her beautiful voice. She looks so peaceful I expect her to wake up and smile and sing her four-note song. She'd promised she would teach my how to whistle it.

"You promised," I whispered. "You promised Rue."

But she hadn't promised she'd come back. I can't blame her for that.

I kiss Rue's cheek, straighten up, and sing in broken voice, my big sister's song.

Outside, a mockingjay trills it back. It sounds just like Rue.


	20. Time

**A/N **There seems to be some confusion among my readers that "Moments" is complete, so for the record, it's NOT. I'm planning on continuing this and writing one-shots for "Mockingjay", so this isn't going to be done for quite some time Hopefully you guys will stick around? Also, this is my 20th chapter! :D Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to review!

This scene: **CF **At the end of the Quell, after Johanna cut out Katniss' tracker but before the arena lows up

**Johanna**

I sprint away, trying to find- I'm not sure who. Finnick? Lover Boy, maybe? I still have to protect him, right? I hear footsteps and dodge behind a tree. Peering around, I see Brutus walk by, slowly. He doesn't know I'm here, obviously. But where's Enobaria? I whip around and check behind me, but no one's there. He must have lost her in the confusion.

"Dammit," he mutters, tightening his grip on the long, nasty looking mace in his hands. Ugh. I hate maces. I smooth my hand over my axe handle.

"Johanna!" I hear Finnick call, and Brutus whips around. It's all I need. I pull my arm back and fling the axe at him. Blood splatters my face as it embeds itself in his head. I grab the axe and wipe the blade clean on the grass. The cannon booms.

I look around, but I think I'm alone. I can hear them though, so I crouch and try to think.

_What should I do? _I demand of myself. _Think! _Katniss' tracking device is gone. Mine's still in me, but I need my arm to work for a while more. I should find either Lover Boy or get back to Fire Girl- Lover Girl now? Huh. Whatever. _Head in the Games, Johanna_. Lesson Number 1: Don't let your mind wander. That always results in people getting killed.

I'm sprinting and almost get knocked back when I bump into Finnick. We both have our weapons ready before we recognize each other.

"Finnick!" I exclaim, relieved, before looking around and lowering my voice. "What's going on?"

"The wire was cut, and Beetee stayed behind to deal with the force field. I was running, I didn't notice Peeta-" He stops, swears. "Idiot ran off to find Katniss."

I swear. "Great, now the stars of the show are either incapacitated or- incapacitated," I mutter, since Peeta's not exactly the best fighter out there. With his leg and his _pacifism, _he's a goner.

"Look, you try and find Katniss. I dug out the tracker, so she's not going to be of much use. I'll try and save Lover Boy."

It's only as I jog away that I realize how I've totally forgotten about the cameras and the Capitol picking up on everything we said. Now if I'm picked up by the bastards they'll know I'm in on the plan. Oh well. I was screwed anyways. Besides, the time for secrecy is over. Now is the time for blood.

"Katniss!" I hear Peeta yell. He's nearby, so I slow down and creep forward, staying on the look-out. The last thing I need is an ambush, although I'd love to shove my blade into Enobaria's neck. Maybe cut off a couple of those creepy teeth.

"Katniss!" He yells again, and she yells back this time. _Shut up dammit! _I mentally scream at them. _Shut up!_

I see Peeta and plant my hand over his mouth before he can yell again.

He jerks me violently away from him, and I'm surprised by his strength.

"Stop it, will you?" I hiss. "Shut _up_, do you want to get killed?"

"What-"

Light. It is suddenly so bright, and I'm flung away. I crash onto the jungle floor and, for a minute, it's like time has stopped. There is just a bright, bright light, and an odd silence that isn't really silence because it's really a ringing noise. I have a vague notion that I should hurt, but I don't. I feel oddly at peace. More at peace than I've felt since… Since forever. Since my brother betrayed the family and had my parents murdered for crimes against the Capitol. Since my sister was reaped and came back a month later in a wooden box. Since I became a murderer. Since I stopped caring about becoming a murderer. Since… Yeah, since a very long time.

But nothing lasts forever, and the peace fades away and the pain takes its place. I feel broken and bruised and battered. And then I remember the tracker in my arm, the tracker I didn't take out. They can't save me. But no! A hovercraft materializes above me, and I feel sudden hope as its claw descends and picks me up, like a parent embracing a child.

The hope is replaced later by fear, and then the fear by pain. I feel broken and bruised and battered. And the pain stretches on, as far as the eye can see. Forever.

* * *

**Prompt: **For _Kesoliai_, who wanted me to write from the POV of a more minor character. Thanks for the prompt!


	21. Beautiful Voices

**A/N **As always, thank you so much for all the positive feedback! Also, if you guys spot any typos or mistakes of any kind, don't be shy! Point them out! :)

This scene: **THG **Before the 74th Hunger Games, when Cinna shows Peeta the roof of the Training Center

**Avox Girl**

It's strange that they let me go here. Up on the roof of the Training Center. Strange… But then, there's always the force field. The invisible bars of my prison.

Some people think the Capitol is beautiful. Bright, artificial, contrived, like the petals of a brilliant, carnivorous flower. One final view of beauty before you die. The city practically taunts the tributes. _See how beautiful we are. See how we don't care._

The city is loud too. Loud klaxons, engines, the tinkle of music. And voices. Chipper and happy, bright and, more often than not, slurred by drink. I can hear them talking, laughing, singing. Their voices burn my ears, but they're beautiful.

I hear footsteps, voices, and I shrink into the shadows cast by the wall. Spying on people makes me feel in control. The one time I am on control, now that my world is… gone. Poof.

Someone is speaking. They have a nice, not-too-deep voice. Another voice responds. It's a little higher, still male, and very pleasant.

"I like to go here to relax a little sometimes," the higher voice is saying. "Don't worry, most people don't come here."

Not true at all. Almost all the tributes come here. I see them, spy on them. Listen to them talk sometimes, as they look at the bright flower-city below them.

They walk onto the roof. I recognize the man with the high voice as Cinna, the new stylist for District 12. But I don't recognize the blond boy with him. I'm not very good with faces.

"So Peeta, what do you think?" Hm, Peeta. What strange names the District people have.

"Wow…" He comments as he looks down over the railing. He whistles appreciatively. "Nice view."

"Yes, it is."

"But what stops them from, you know…" The blond boy mimes jumping over the roof. "I mean, why do they let us up here?"

"You can't jump," Cinna explains, and touches the force field before jerking his hand back. Peeta reaches out as well, pulls his hand back.

"Well, that's nice of them," he comments. He has a nice voice, very… calming and kind. My brother was like that. Whenever I was scared, he knew exactly what to say. When Mom and Daddy were killed when we were running away, he had the words to keep me going.

They're all I have now of him. The memory of his words. This boy's voice brings them back to me, and I'm not sure whether to hate him for it or be grateful.

"We should go in," Cinna says, putting his arm around the boy's shoulders.

When they go in, I go back to the railing and look over the city. Funny, that it used to be my home. But no longer.

I lean against the railing, listen to the voices. And wish one of them was mine.

* * *

**Prompt: **For :), who requested the scene where Cinna showed Peeta the roof. It wasn't the focus of the piece, admittedly, but I incorporated it for you. Thank you for all your prompts and reviews!


	22. Dust

**A/N **First, thank you for the reviews, especially to my anonymous reviewers. Reviews are loved! Now, in this scene I write Annie. There have been many, many different versions of her, and I hope you like mine. If you want to see a different take (and read a fantastic story) check out **Medea Smyke**'s _We Hope You Enjoy Your Stay_.

This scene: **CF **After Finnick was reaped for the 75th Hunger Games

**Finnick**

I sit on a bench and wait for Annie to come. I know she'll come. Mags will send her, I know it.

There was a time, once, when Mags didn't need to _send _Annie anywhere. Once, she didn't need to be reminded constantly of where she was, what she was doing. Once, I loved her and she loved me and it was just that simple. The first part hasn't changed, but life isn't that simple anymore.

The door opens, and she comes in hesitantly. At first glance, she looks the same. She is still tall and delicate. Her beautiful, heart-shaped face is the same. She still has a scar on her arm from when she went oyster diving. But when you look closer, the important things are… changed. Her face is bony, haggard, her sea-blue eyes, once so clear, are now vague and confused. She has been changed almost beyond recognition.

But the worst part isn't the changes. It's not the times when she screams and cries and doesn't recognize anybody but the demons that haunt her. Nor the times when she is utterly silent and lies there, curled in a ball. No, the worst part is when she's the _same_. When she's _Annie. _The times when she wakes up and smiles and laughs and loves. The times when she holds my hand and says everything's going to be fine now. The worst parts are the times when I see Annie Cresta for a moment, and then she's just gone. Like dust.

But right now, the stress and fear that is being radiated from everyone has her on edge. She curls up beside me like a child and says nothing, just rocks back and forth. I take her hand slowly.

"Annie?" I say softly. "Annie?"

She looks at me, and for a moment, there is a flicker of recognition. Then, it's gone, and she pulls her hand away. "Who? Annie?" She sounds just like a child, small and lost.

"Annie…" I breathe her name like a prayer and take her hand again, and this time she lets me.

She's the reason I'm doing this. Fighting. It's the Capitol that has done this, taken the girl I love and changed her. I never really got her back after the Games.

A guard comes in and tells me Annie has to go. She gets up uncertainly, totters towards the door, but before she leaves, she looks back. And before the door closes, she smiles the same smile I love.

Annie.

* * *

**Prompt: **For _Manawyrmz _and _Wish I Had An Account_, who both requested a Finnick piece. And for _DemigodWiththeBread_, who requested a Finnick/Annie piece.


	23. Faces

**A/N **As always, thank you so much for all the feedback, I'm thrilled you guys like what I'm writing!

This scene: **THG **When Clove is dying.

**Clove**

Hurt.

Pain.

_Agony._

It burns. It burns like a red-hot fire, blinding and in sudden waves that are more potent than the last. It _hurts. _Thinking is… hard. So hard. _It hurts... _I can't- can't… think. So hard to hang on to… life. I try to tighten my fingers, cling to the cliff, but I hang there. In the netherworld between life and death.

I hear something. Someone. The voice is… so familiar. As familiar as the feel of a knife handle against my palm, as the sound of metal clanging, as the feel of his lips against mine.

It's him.

"Cato…" I gasp. I cough blood.

"Clove!" He tumbles to the ground beside me and grabs my hand in both of his. "C'mon Clove."

"He-" I squeeze my eyes as another wave of agony smashes against my skull. "From 11."

"Thresh," Cato breathes. He fingers tighten on mine, "You have to get up Clove. We have to kill him for this. And Fire Girl, remember? And that traitor, Lover Boy."

"Thresh let Fire Girl go," I cough. "Some kind… of debt. She ran… off. Thresh… took our bag." It… It's hard to talk. Hard to… concentrate on his face. I've always had so much focus, and now… It's the first to go.

"I… I messed up Cato." His face is so fuzzy now.

"No. No, you can still…" His voice is fading away. I'm losing my grip on… the cliff edge.

I look at the trees and suddenly, little faces appear. There's the boy I killed with my knife. My knife in… his back. I can see it sticking out as he stares at me accusingly. There's the girl whose neck I slit at the Cornucopia. The large boy, one of us, a Career who I killed in a fight. He glares at me, the knife protruding from his chest, the blood dripping down slowly. And there, the girl who we all tortured. The girl we sent Lover Boy back to kill. She lit a fire, so we cut her hands. She tried to run, so we hacked at her legs. She begged for mercy, so I cut at her lips. Her mouth is bloody, condemning.

They are all there. Staring. Accusing. Hating. Their eyes burn.

"Clove…" Cato whispers. I wish… I wish I could tell him I would always be with him, but that would be a lie, and we have never lied to each other. Not once.

I will not be with Cato forever. I will not even spend a few more minutes with him. No. I look at the faces beyond him and know.

As their cold hands pull me down, I know.


	24. Him And Them

**A/N **To commemorate the release of _Mockingjay _(hooray!), here's an update! I haven't bought the book yet, like many people, I'm sure, so please, no spoilers of ANY KIND when you review :) If you review. Thank you! And be warned, this one is a little… different. Hope you enjoy!

This scene: **CF **Just before the morphling saves Peeta's life from the monkey muttations.

**Woman Morphling Addict**

The world is too bright. It hurts your eyes. Your eyes swim in the dazzling light, and everything is fuzzy. You wish for _him. He _always knew what to do, how to comfort you. When you had won, at first, you were alone. Hazily, you remember the pain of those days, the agony. The nightmares. The faces and the hands reaching for you. But then _he_ came along, a friend of a friend, and _he_ held you in _his_ embrace and the pain was gone. _He_ pressed a cool finger to the crook of your elbow and the faces disappeared. The world disappeared and was replaced by colors. Nice colors, rhubarb pink and baby blue, not the painful brightness of now. _He _is not with you now. You weren't allowed to have _him _with you here, or in the bright Color City.

As you stumble along, trying to shield the light from your eyes- it doesn't work, the light is in your head- you remember- vaguely- that you have a… goal. _He _has relieved you of your mind, but you still have this… goal. This objective.

A face. Two faces. The boy and the girl. Light and dark, together, hand in hand. Shield. You are their shield. From what? You can't remember, quite, but you remember red droplets, crimson, like blood, clutched in a pair of hands.

Where are they? _He_ has relieved you of your mind, but you still have this last thing to do. You must find them, the light boy and the dark girl. They are needed, you remember. They are important. You are not. You must protect them.

You hear them, and you move towards them, running perhaps. Floating, maybe. Moving. You haven't moved in such a long time. You have stood, motionless, on a soft protective cloud, _his _arms wrapped around your body and your mind.

But _he _is not important anymore, and neither are you.

Only them.

The boy and the girl.

* * *

**Prompt: **For _Tour de Force_, who wanted to see more about the morphlings.


	25. Smile

**A/N **Sorry for the lack of updates! Not only did I need time to absorb _Mockingjay_ (for the record, I loved it. So please no MJ bashing in the reviews ) and then school started. Ugh. Well, I'm back! And the next couple of updates were written before MJ's release, so no spoilers. Also, I went through my reviews and added a note to the end of each chapter of _Moments_ saying whether it was a response to a prompt or not. So thank you for all the prompts and reviews!

Also (and yes, I know this is late), sadly I didn't win anything in the _The Hunger Games Awards… _thing (LOL), but thank you to those you nominated me for categories, and congratulations to the winners!

This scene: **Post-CF** President Snow pays the captured Peeta a visit

**President Snow**

I sit in my plush, deep-seated armchair in my office and raise my eyes to Winst, standing at attention in front of me. I finger the rose on my lapel, lifting it to my nose, feeling its silky petals beneath my fingertips.

"District 12 has been dealt with, I hope?"

"Yes President," he stutters, a bead of sweat sliding down the side of his neck. I hand him a handkerchief and he pats his face abashedly. "Sorry President, I'm-"

"New," I finish coolly. 'And the rebels? They're being held securely?"

"Yes sir, if you'd like-"

"I think I'll take a look," I say, rising. "Go, and bring Thread."

He bows, stutters some nonsense about it being an honour and hurries out, tripping on the carpet as he goes. Fool.

I rub the spot above my eyebrow where a headache is starting up as I walk briskly to the elevator and press the correct button. These rebels… Of course, they don't pose much of a threat, but the fact alone that there are uprisings is enough. _How dare they? _I want to demand. To fight against _us! _After we've given them security and shown them mercy for more than 75 years! The nerve. And it all started with little grey-eyed Katniss Everdeen, defiant and fierce and _in love. _Thankfully, the citizens of the Capitol happily eat up all _that _garbage, so long as they have their succulent meals, make-up, and _feathers._ Of course, there are the bright exceptions, but they were easy enough to weed out. Like that Cinna character. A shame, really, he had seemed so promising. Alas.

The elevator stops on the 1st floor and Romulus Thread steps in.

"President Snow." He inclines his head. "Going to view the prisoners, sir?"

"One of them, for now," I reply. "What do you think of Winst, Thread?" I ask. The best way to keep higher-ranked officers in check is to make them feel trusted, to make them feel as though their opinions matter in the greater scheme of things. And Thread has been a useful tool, keeping order in Distrct 12. Whipping the Hawthorne boy was a stroke of genius on _my _part, but Thread executed it nicely. Of course, the boy survived. But not all can go as planned.

"Winst is an idiot," Thread says disparagingly. "He talks too much."

"Does he have a family?" I pride myself on knowing the backgrounds and lives of all of my officers, but Winst is new.

"Married sir," Thread replies promptly. "With a daughter."

"Kill them both- no," I correct myself. "How old is the daughter?"

"Ten, sir."

"Turn her into an Avox. Give her to Dardley."

"Yes sir," Thread answers, noting my instructions down as the elevator slows to a halt. He steps back to allow me to exit first and I follow the winding corridor to door 14. Thread unlocks the door for me, and I stride in.

The room is small and bright. The boy sits on the bed, quite still, blue eyes fixed on me as I walk in. I jerk my head to Thread, ordering him out. He hesitates.

"Sir, are you sure-"

I move back my jacket and pat the handle of my pistol. "He'll cooperate. Stay outside."

When he's gone, I regard the boy.

"It doesn't matter whether we kill you or not," I inform the boy. "She will die in the end."

He says nothing, just stares at me with surprisingly empty eyes. A good liar, a good actor, this Mellark child. A pity he refuses to join our side. He would be a worthy asset, for a time, But they're all disposable, replaceable, expendable. In the end, there is only myself and Katniss Everdeen.

"Your district is gone, your family is dead, your girl is with her _cousin_, and yet you still resist," I muse thoughtfully. A muscle twitches in his jaw at the word "cousin" and I allow myself a faint smile. Ah, Katniss Everdeen. She seems to be everyone's weakness. And weaknesses are important, the little chinks in people's armour. I walk slowly to him and lean down, putting my lips close to his ear. His shoulder shudders slightly under my hand. "You will break, eventually, Peeta Mellark. One way or another. Give her up while you still have a tongue to speak with, and a mind to think with." I rise and walk to the door, but look back at him before I leave. "Tell me now, and I'll spare you the agony of a Capitol interrogation."

"Goodbye, President Snow," he says, lying down slowly. "It's been a nice chat."

I shut the door and look at Thread.

"Start working on Mellark. And don't forget about Winst."

"Yes sir."

In my office, I smile.

* * *

**Prompt: **For _HalfHope_, who requested anything by President Snow's POV.


	26. Ghost

**A/N **This one…. Was really, really hard to write. I've edited it way more than any other piece I've written. I'm pretty happy with how it turned out, overall. It's by far my longest one, and I'm a little iffy with the ending, but I this is the best I can do :) Let me know what you think! Oh, and this is the last piece that was written before_ Mockingjay_'s release.

The name of the District 8 girl from THG (Rahel) is taken from an excellent book, _The God of Small Things._

This scene: **CF **When Katniss and Peeta visit District 8 during the victory tour.

**Rahel's Brother**

I expected them to enter with big (fake) smiles and nice (fake) speeches, but when Peeta Mellark and Katniss Everdeen go on stage after their tour of the district, they're subdued. He looks worn, she looks tired, and their speeches are brief, impersonal. Behind me, where the rest of the district stands, I can feel their fury, their hatred for the Capitol and everything they have done to us. If things were different, I would've stood their with them too, cheered Katniss Everdeen's name as well. But all I can do is stare at Peeta Mellark, his arm around his girlfriend, and think of ways to kill him.

Strangling.

Blunt object (maybe a framed picture of my sister, for a little poetic justice) to the head.

A gun, if I wanted to be quick (as though _they _were).

I could choke him, set him on fire, drown him. Lock him in one of the storage rooms of the factory and starve him to death.

Or, I could let him be tortured, hover at the edges until he's bleeding so much he's choking on his own blood, and then stab him in the chest. And apologize.

Again, for a little poetic justice.

He looks at me (at us, our little family ripped at the seams with a big, gaping hole where Rahel should be) and says she didn't deserve what happened to her. What he let happen to her. I stare at him until he looks away.

When they're done, the district applauds, loudly, too loudly, and my hands are heavy at my sides. They get off the stage and the guards are distracted getting the crowd to disperse, making sure we all behave. The Peacekepers are distracted enough that I head to the Justice Building. I even manage to get inside, where a slim man who would look normal without the freaky gold eyeliner smiles at me politely, obviously thinking I work here.

"Excuse me," I say quickly, stopping him. "I have a message for Peeta Mellark from our Mayor, can you tell me where he is?"

"Through that door," he says with another friendly, perky smile. _Ugh._ I force myself to smile and walk to the door just as a Peacekeeper walks out.

"What are you doing here?" He demands, grabbing my arm. I struggle to shake him off. "Get out or I'll haul you out myself."

"What's going on?" Mellark demands, stepping out. He looks at me for a moment, a slight frown on his face, like maybe he remembers me, before looking at the guard questioningly.

"He was tress-" The guard starts.

"I have a message for you from the Mayor," I interrupt, shaking the guard- Cyrus? Cyrlus? Something-that-ends-with-an-us- off me.

"It's fine, let him in," Mellark says, even holding the door for me as I go in. Well, I always thought polite killers were cliché.

"What's your message?" He asks, turning to me as he rubs his face with his hand, eyes half-shut. Maybe he's tired. At least he's not dead, right?

"You killed my sister," I say flatly. He face freezes instantly. "You killed Rahel."

He closes his eyes and steps back. I step forward, keeping the same distance between us. I'm trying to figure out whether I have enough time to kill him before he calls the guards. What with the noise of the crowd and the talk outside, we won't be heard if I'm quick about it.

"I didn't want to," he whispers, shaking his head.

"You could have stopped them," I say, strangely calmly. I'd always imagined me screaming, yelling, punching him before stabbing him with a handy knife. Not talking civilly to my little sister's murderer.

"They would've killed me. You don't know-"

"What it's like?" I cut in, my voice shaking. I try to steady it. This is not the time to be weak. "_You killed my little sister._"

"You think I'm not haunted by that? By her? You don't understand-"

"You think I don't know something about ghosts?" I get out painfully, stepping closer. "You think _I'm _not haunted by her? _You _don't know what it's like, you got to keep your life _and _your girlfriend's!"

He flinches. "And I feel guilty every single day. She's the only person I killed in the Games and that's enough. But…" He looks at me pleadingly, like he wants- needs- my forgiveness. "When I came back, she was almost dead. She was in pain and I couldn't fix it."

I remember.

"_It's okay," he says gently, as my whole world falls apart. "It'll be over soon."_

"_Make it fast," she whispers. I'd always teased her for not being brave, but at this moment, as she asks for her own death, I realize she is the bravest person I know… Knew. _

_The knife is sharp, and he plunges it in deep. She's dead in seconds._

_And so am I._

"I forgive you." The words slip out before I can stop them. I don't _want _to forgive him. Without my anger, my hate, there is nothing left. Just a Rahel-shaped hole in my world.

"Maybe you should forgive yourself instead," he says gently. He clasps my shoulder briefly, and I think of how screwed up this all is. Being comforted by the guy whose murder I have planned since my little sister's death. But it's useless.

"What's it like, killing someone?" I burst out. He's silent for a while, and I know he knows I planned to kill him. I look away. His eyes look to understanding.

"I hope you never know. I know I'll never forget," he says finally, and leaves.

Leaves me with my ghost.

Later, there is fire. Explosions. A rebellion, they call it. It feels more like chaos and panic and a crazed, animal-like fury. My mother is dead. Father is gone, dead too, maybe. I don't know. There's no time to think, only act.

The next thing I know, a Peacekeeper is standing in front of me, a gun pointed at my chest. I stumble backwards and trip over Father, a gun still in his stiff hands. I wrench it from his grasp and point it at the Peacekeeper. And for a brief, everlasting moment we look at one another.

I'm not wearing anything but a shirt, and the bullet plunges in deep. I wonder whether I should've shot the Peacekeeper. I wonder whether Rahel has forgiven me. I wonder if now I won't feel guilt anymore, because the only blood on my hands is hers. Maybe the guilt will leave.

Or maybe guilt doesn't work like that. Maybe it never leaves you. Maybe blood never really washes off.

* * *

Prompt: For _Penelope Wendy Bing _who requested the scene where Peeta kills "Rahel". Thank you for the many wonderful reviews. While this isn't actually the scene you requested, I did show it in a memory. So I'll consider the prompt answered :)


	27. Katniss Everdeen

**A/N **RL is taking up all of my time and effort right now, so there won't be updates for a while. As always, your reviews are very much welcome. And… here's my first _Mockingjay _one-shot. Enjoy… hopefully :)

This scene: **MJ **Before Peeta's final interview, when he warns Katniss about the upcoming D13 bombing.

**Peeta**

… I'm sitting. Sitting on a chair in the Capitol. This. This is real. To my left, Portia, my stylist for both of my Games (_Games in which Katniss Everdeen tried to kill me- notrealnotrealrealrealrealNOT_). She touches my arm briefly (_Katniss Everdeen, shiny and wild as she tries to stab me- notrealrealrealnotrealREAL_) I flinch, move away. Flinch, not from Portia, but from her fingers. Touch is bad.

"Peeta," she says softly.

"Portia." She doesn't look good. Eyes permanently red-rimmed, skinny and worn and empty-looking like Katniss Everdeen looked as a child, desperately clutching two loaves of burnt bread (_... real?_), except Portia has nothing to hold onto anymore. Except me, and everyone who has ever depended on me is dead. I lean forward, grip my head between my hands and try to keep myself as still as possible. I feel Portia's breath as she leans in close, fixing my hair with soft, gentle fingers (_KatnissKatnissKatnissKatniss, Katniss everywhere in my mind, and I don't know what to think, I don't know don't know don't know, just make it stop_).

"She's in Thirteen," I hear Portia whisper- no, breathe- softly, as though she can hear my thoughts. She fixes my collar, like she has so many times. My mother never fixed my collar. I remember my mother's hands, feel her palm against my cheek like a brand, nothing like Portia's gentle ones as she grips my hand briefly. Her hands are icy cold, like they've been immersed in water.

"They taunted me with it…" Portia whisper-breathes again. "After Cinna…They're planning on bombing the district tomorrow morning. I don't know why they'd tell me." She presses her lips to my cheek, a light kiss. "Maybe they want you to know. It doesn't matter."

I lower my hands slowly and stare at Portia. Why is she telling me this? Does she want me to warn them? Warn… Katniss Everdeen (_she tried to kill me, she kissed me on a beach, she hates me, I love her, I hate her I want to kill her, nononononono-_). I drop my head again, pressing my fingers against my lids as memory after memory flares up.

_On the rooftop of the Training Center. "I wish I could freeze this moment, right here, right now, and live in it forever."_

_Katniss, trying to kill me with tracker jackers._

_Katniss, pretending to love me so she could win, caring nothing nothing nothing for me._

_Katniss, screaming and desperate on a train. Me, desperate and silent, plagued with nightmares of a beautiful, grey-eyed girl dying. This girl is not Katniss Everdeen._

_Is she?_

_A pearl, glimmering in my palm as I give it to her. A token. A token of love. Why? Because… _(I press my fingers harder, drawing tears, but they're reflexive, not emotional. They're not.) _Because I wasn't planning on coming home. I was going to sacrifice myself for her._

_For Katniss Everdeen._

"Peeta…" Portia whispers. "I know they're doing things to you. But you love her. You love Katniss Everdeen."

_Do I?_

I raise my head slowly and look at President Snow, sitting to my right.

Haymitch. Haymitch, before the Quell, telling Katniss to remember who the enemy is.

"Ten seconds to air, sir," a man behind the camera says.

I have ten seconds.

"_When you're in the arena… You just remember who the enemy is."_

A new arena. An old enemy. But remembering, remembering _properly_, has never been so hard.

"And we're on air."


	28. Button

**A/N **I may as well make it official: I'll be taking a hiatus for an unspecified amount of time. My life is just really busy right now, and unfortunately I don't really have time to write at the moment. I might update again in a week or two. Or I might not update until Christmas. We'll see. Until then, thank you so much for your reviews! They mean a lot :)

As always, don't be afraid to prompt!

This scene: **MJ **When Gale went back to the Everdeens' room to get Prim, before the Capitol bombed D13.

**Gale**

"Prim!" I shout, grabbing her arm before she enters the room where the Everdeens are staying. "What the hell are you doing? Are you deaf?"

"It's Buttercup." She yanks her arm out of my grasp before I can sling her over my shoulders and run. I don't want to think about what would happen to Katniss if her little sister dies. "I have to save him!"

I fling the door open. Inside, the mangy cat is racing around crazily, his yowling an awful screechy sound in my ears.

"Shut up! Grab it Prim. Hurry!" I order.

Prim grabs the cat and I order her out, knowing I'll be able to catch up with her once I'm done here.

I look around for anything worth saving from destruction. I spy Katniss' father's hunting jacket slung over a chair and grab it, then head to the drawers. I pick up an old book I recognize as their herbalist's book and stash it into the sack we used for hunting slung around my neck. I'm about to close the drawer when I see a bit of silk at the bottom. A parachute from the Quarter Quell. Opening it slowly, I see the spile that kept Katniss alive and something else, a small glistening, utterly harmless white pearl. The pearl Mellark had given to her along with some stupid comment about coal that had made her laugh. I hold it between my fingers for a moment, and seriously consider leaving it behind.

_To what? To spite her? _I ask myself. _Am I really that jealous?_

I remember Katniss' face when Peeta and Caesar's first interview aired. When she'd run to the screen and pressed her hand to it, her face lit up with something I'd never seen before. At least not for me. And then, just recently, when he'd appeared again, prosthetic leg (because, yes, he's also an amputee) tapping and his face looking more than a little crazy, when Katniss had gripped _Finnick Odair's _hand rather than mine, when his blood had splattered the floor, when-

Prim's waiting for me. And I'd hate to die thinking of Dough Boy. Screw it. Besides, Katniss is my friend first. Always.

I stuff the pearl in the parachute, put them both in the bag and run. Run because there's no time (but more time than we might have had, because Peeta Mellark warned us. Add that to the list of things I owe him).

Can I really blame Mellark though? No (_yes._). The Capitol. Every problem comes back to them. I remember telling Katniss that if I had a button that would kill every citizen of the Capitol, I would push it. I remember Mellark saying that killing innocent people costs you everything you are.

But what if you have nothing left? What if everything you are has already been taken?

As I run down the halls, to safety, to Katniss, grabbing for her sister with one hand, clutching her pearl in another, I think of Beetee.

I may not have a button, but I might be able to build the next best thing.


	29. Remember

**A/N **I didn't expect to be able to write, but I was! Huzzah! Since I have the chance, I have to plug an amazing story I discovered recently: _sweetheart_ by koalakoala9836. It's Haymitch-centric and really, really excellent.

I realize I enjoy writing Prim/Peeta way too much, considering they have… no scenes together in the books? Weird.

This scene: **MJ** Prim goes to visit Peeta in his "cell" after he's been high-jacked.

**Prim **

I hesitate outside the door. Do I want to do this? Haymtich said he called Katniss a mutt. It's 2:00 in the morning- everyone is asleep, I have no protection. But Haymitch said he was a little better. He might remember me. I could _help _him. Help my sister, who, though she doesn't say anything to me (_I wish you would wake me up more often_, I said, but she doesn't), is suffering. I walk in.

Peeta is sitting on his bed, chains keeping his hands down so he can't attack me. His hands are covering his face, and he's sitting stiffly, like he's frozen.

"Peeta?" I say softly.

His head snaps up, and for a moment, his eyes are wild as he looks at me. But then he sags back against the wall, and he seems to remember me, But his eyes are different, pretty blue eyes that always seemed to understand. Always filled with a sort of calm. Different.

"Do you remember me?" I ask hesitantly.

"Sure. Prim Everdeen," he says finally. "Katniss Everdeen's little sister." His voice is different too.

"You used to let me watch you frost cake sometimes. When Katniss was gone hunting?" He nods slowly, and his eyes drop away from mine and look down at his hands. They're shaking.

"I remember," he whispers.

I walk slowly until I am in front of him, then beside him. He stiffens and moves away, but he doesn't attack me. Maybe the Capitol didn't see why they would need to alter his memories of me. Just Katniss,

"Katniss isn't a muttation," I say finally. "She's just sad. And everyone's Mockingjay, I guess."

"Sad?" He repeats, doubtfully. "Katniss doesn't get _sad_," his voice caustic, sharper than I have ever heard it before. I inch away from him a little before I can stop myself. "She just kills people. Do you know how many people she's killed?"

"Do you know she used to fall asleep holding that pearl you gave her?" I reply, avoiding his question. Yes, yes I know how many people my sister has killed. For me. Because she volunteered to protect me. Their blood is on my hands as well. As much on my hands as on the hands of my older sister, who screams her pain out nearly every night. Neither I nor Mother know how to fix that kind of pain. But I could help fix the one who does.

Peeta's eyes are closed again. He's even stiffer than he was before.

"You must remember the pearl," I say softly.

"Yes… No. I don't know."

I scoot closer and reach out slowly, press my hand against the back of his until he opens his fist. I hold his trembling hand tightly.

"You have to remember, Peeta," I say. "She needs you to remember. Do you remember her saying she needed you?"

He shakes his head, makes to pull his hand away, but I hold on. "Please remember." I let go, stand up. When he looks up, he almost looks like himself, except I have never seen Peeta look so haunted. "Annie and Finnick are getting married you know. Maybe you could make them a cake."

He says nothing, stares into his hands. "Please leave," he whispers. "Before I hurt you."

I walk out of the room and cry silently. For him. For her.

For a small, forgotten pearl and a lost boy.


	30. Left Behind

**A/N **First and foremost, since most reviews I've been getting lately end with "are you going to update?"… Yes, I will. RL has been taking up all of my time of late, but rest assured I haven't abandoned this fic. Now, this chapter… I'm not 100% happy with it, and it turned out differently than I'd planned, but I'd been asked to write Post-MJ Johanna, so here we are.

For future reference, Post-MJ chapters are set after the final chapter but before the epilogue. If they're set after the epilogue they'll be titled Post-Epilogue.

30 chapters! :)

This scene: **Post-MJ **Johanna goes to pay Annie a visit

**Johanna**

"Hi," she says. In her arms is a little boy with curly hair and brilliant, sea-green eyes. I keep my eyes fixed on the mother.

"I know," she says. She steps back to let me in. "I've been waiting for you to come. I thought you'd come sooner."

"I was busy," I answer. Grieving is a long process. "Gardening. I planted a pine tree."

"I'll have to come see it sometime," Annie says. The baby starts squirming and Annie presses her lips to his forehead. I keep my eyes on the carpet. Blue and stylish. "Do you want anything? Tea?"

"Yeah. Sure," I say. I sit on a couch. The living room is devoid of pictures save one. A sketch of him, trident in hand. He's in the middle of throwing it. Peeta Mellark has captured his expression perfectly. I put my hand in my pocket and grip the bundle of pine needles tighter.

"Can you hold him while I get the tea?" Annie asks hesitantly. As I reach out to take him, her eyes grow panicked for a minute. I take the baby, grip her hand briefly. She's better, at least. Who'd have thought crazy Annie would deal with the loss of everything we knew better than I would? The old me would laugh.

He is very warm. His eyes are wide and intelligent and too much like _his_. I look away.

Annie hands me tea and takes the baby back. I gulp the scalding tea down, liking the burn as it goes down.

"When did you find out Fin-" Annie starts, but I interrupt.

"Have you talked to Katniss?" I ask.

"No. You?"

"No. I'm waiting for them to get married already."

Annie's lips move a little. Maybe it's a smile. I can't remember what a smile looks like. "I don't think Peeta's well yet. Maybe in a little while."

"Yeah."

Annie's head suddenly jerks up, sharply. "When did you find out Finnick was dead?"

I stand up. "I have to go. It was nice talking."

Annie grabs my hand. "Johanna. Johanna-"

"What? You want me to talk about my _feelings_?" I choke out. "Finnick is dead! How do you think I feel?"

Annie recoils as though I slapped her and places the baby very carefully on a chair. She rises slowly and leaves the room. Through the shut door, I can hear her crying, very quietly. The baby stares at me with beautiful, green eyes. The eyes of the dead. A dead, to be exact, but Finnick is the only one who really counts. The one who shouldn't have died. The one who had something to live for and left anyways and fought anyways and died anyways.

And me. I stayed in the hospital and cried for the first time since I became a tribute such a very long time ago.

I reach out slowly and pick up the baby. Finnick's baby. I press my lips to his forehead and speak.

_There is no one left that I love_.


	31. Expendable

**A/N **This series… thing is winding down to a close. I'd hoped to end it with a chapter from Katniss' POV, but it doesn't look like that'll happen. Nonetheless, any prompts for the final chapter (from Katniss' POV) would be really appreciated. Maybe it'll prompt my muse. If not, the next chapter will be the final (very long) chapter.

This scene: **MJ **When Coin talks to Peeta and sends him to the Capitol to join Katniss and Co.

**President Coin**

"I'm here to see the prisoner," I inform Haymitch. He's leaning against the door, like he's guarding it. Ineffective, of course, as he's slightly intoxicated and there are two armed men at my side. "Move away from the door, Abernathy."

"What do you want with Peeta?" Abernathy demands. His words don't slur, surprisingly. I'm still not sure how to judge how drunk a man is. The people of Distirct 13 have low tolerances to alcohol, becoming drunk after only a glass the few times alcohol has been available and permitted to drink. This man has been drinking for most of his life, or so I've gathered.

"It doesn't affect you, Abernathy. Move aside."

"The hell it doesn't!" His voice is loud, the reek of alcohol against my face. I resist the urge to step back. Or shoot him. "You idiots pretend to help him-"

"We are-"

"If helping him means keeping him chained up for the rest of his life!" He is shouting now. The guards at my side move, but I hold up a hand.

"Mr. Abernathy-"

"Oh, don't polite-talk me sweetheart," Haymitch snaps.

"Fine. Would you rather we give the traitor full run of the place? Give him a communicuff maybe?"

"Peeta's not a traitor. You stiff-necked idiots seem to have forgotten the boy was being tortured." Suddenly, Haymitch is calm again. He leans against the door, arms crossed. "What more do you want from him? He's still alive. His life is all he can give."

"And if I want him to give it, I don't need your permission!" I snap. "If you don't move aside, I will be forced to shoot you. It'll be fatal Haymitch."

He opens the door with one hand, waves me in with the other. "I'm coming in."

"Suit yourself."

Inside, Mellark is painting something.

"He wasn't issued those materials," I say, turning to the guards. "How-"

"Haymitch stole them for me," Mellark informs me, flipping the sketchbook closed.

"Better fitted up some people's-"

"Alright. I can send you out Haymitch. Forcefully, if necessary."

"Why are you here?" Mellark asks, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms. The posture reminds me of Haymitch.

"We're sending you out."

"Excuse me?"

"To the Capitol."

"Are you crazy?" Haymitch roars.

"We've deemed him fit for battle. And coupling him with Soldier Everdeen once more-"

Peeta head snaps up. "Katniss?"

"Yes. As I said, pairing you with her will give the propos-"

"Screw the propos," Haymitch snaps harshly. "Don't give us that bullshit. This has nothing to do with them."

"You want me to kill Katniss," Peeta says calmly. Haymitch glares at me. At my signal, the guards move to either side of Haymitch.

"Leave us please." I expect Haymitch to resist, but he remains silent as he moves to the door. Before leaving, he turns to face me.

"You won't be able to get rid of them that easily. Either of them." He steps out and slams the door, the echo ringing harshly in the white room.

"So, you want me to kill Katniss," Peeta repeats.

"Why would you think that?"

"There are plenty of versions of Katniss in my head. They're all trouble makers. "

I smile thinly. "Of course not. As I said, the propos will benefit from your presence. Your romance with Everdeen-"

"Don't lie to me," the boy says coldly. He lies back down and tilts his head to the wall. "If you're worried about me warning Katniss Everdeen, don't. In a couple of hours I'll get confused and won't understand this conversation anyways."

While this isn't the first time I've heard the traitor speak since his highjacking, this is the first time he has spoken to _me_. I hadn't expected him to sound quite so lucid. I had, instead, expected crazed ravings, perhaps eagerness at the thought of killing Everdeen. It may be a mistake to use this boy. While it isn't likely that Everdeen will kill him before he kills her, if there's any truth to their Hunger Games romance, the girl is ruthless. Then again, the boy's expendable. Whether he survives this mission or not is inconsequential.

In the end, Katniss Everdeen will die.


	32. Try

**A/N **And we are almost done! The next and final chapter has been typed up and will be posted in a couple of weeks. Until then, here's the second-to last chapter. It's the longest one, and a little… unexpected, maybe? There is a bit of swearing in it (nothing too bad, I don't think), because it felt out of character to not have swearing, considering who the two characters in this piece are. Reviews are both welcome and greedily read :)

**Edit **Re-uploaded due to formatting issues. Thanks to everyone who pointed it out!

This scene: **Post-MJ **Gale gets some unexpected advice.

**Gale**

District 2 is ugly.

It was my first thought when I arrived here. I was always sure District 12 had to be the ugliest district in existence. Funny how things change. Now, the thought of the Hob wrenches at me- hell, the thought of the damn square where most of the worst moments of my life went down is sure to choke me up a little. Apparently, I'm _emotionally unstable_. Those are the words used by the good doctors of the Capitol. I prefer terms like _self-loathing_, _fury_, _bitterness_ and _so this is what it feels like when you've screwed up beyond belief_. But _emotionally unstable _works too.

Once, I wanted to write her a letter. I think it started with _I'm sorry_ or _I know you probably won't read past these words, if you haven't thrown this letter in the fire yet _or something equally useless. What I really want to say is _Like you wouldn't have done the same_, _I was supposed to get revenge, not lose you_ or _So when are you two getting engaged?_ But I burned the letter before I wrote it.

I just want to see her. Maybe, if I saw her, I'd figure out what to say. If there is anything to say. All I have to do is put myself in her shoes- picture Posy, Vick or Rory dead, burned to death right in front of me- and I know there isn't.

I know she probably thinks I've forgotten her, that I'm just hanging out here and kissing girls on slag heaps like I did before I met her. I have kissed a couple- most people recognize me, think of me as… not a hero, but as a helpful rebel soldier- but it's not like she thinks. They're just distractions. I know I'm supposed to be like Dough Boy. I'm supposed to mourn and love her from afar and never look at another girl, and in the end I'll get her because I know how to use the cameras and talk nicely and bake cheese buns. But I'm not like that. I'm emotionally unstable and trying to forget my best friend.

"Sorry to interrupt your sorrow Hawthorne," someone says. My head snaps up from where it's been resting against a tree outside of the district. I spin around and scramble to my feet in one motion, and realize it's-

"Johanna Mason?" I demand. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I'm taking a tour of the districts," she says with a shrug, but her eyes don't meet mine.

"Why?"

"Nostalgia for the old days," she says sarcastically. Her lips twist into a bitter smirk. "I used to tour the district often you know."

She looks better, I guess. I remember Mason being a mess after we got her back from the Capitol. Actually, I remember her _in _the Capitol. Filthy and grey-looking, either from dirt or fear. Bloody. Screamed a lot too. She looks clean now, finally. Her hair's grown, I think. It's down to her shoulders now. Sticking out of her pocket is a bundle of pine needles.

"What are you doing here Hawthorne? Given up?" She flops down and stretches out on the grass.

"Given up what?" It comes out harsher than I mean it to. It's been a while since I've actually talked to anyone. Beyond the usual formalities, I've mostly helped re-build District 2 and stayed away from people. I've talked to my family, of course, but even then, we stay away from any of the topics that actually matter.

"Everdeen," she says with a shrug, rolling onto her back. "Bout time too. I don't think she was that into you Hawthorne. Can't say I blame her." She crinkles her nose. "When was the last time you cut your hair?"

"Seriously?" I let sarcasm and disbelief hide the sting from her words. I lean back against the tree and slide down to the grass again, letting the bark scrape against my shirt. "I've been busy."

"It's been 8 months since Everdeen shot Coin," Mason says flatly. "Getting a haircut should be the first thing you do when an evil government's been toppled."

"What do you want from me?"

"Are you going to 12 any time soon." It's a statement, not a question. She already knows the answer. Mason takes out the pine needles and rolls them between her palms.

"That's none of your business."

"She'll miss you at the wedding," Johanna says with a shrug.

"What?" I swallow, trying to keep the tremor from my voice. "What-"

"They're practically engaged Hawthorne. He's finally getting better. I say, give it a couple of months. Maybe you'd be aware of that if you weren't living like a hermit in this crap district."

"What. Do. You. Want. From. Me."

"For you to stop thinking you're so special!" Mason flings her arms in the air and rises to her feet. "So you lost Katniss to Peeta. Sorry to gate crash your pity party, but in case you haven't noticed, people are dead!"

"I know that," I get out through gritted teeth. "Screw you Mason."

She snorts. "The girl you're supposedly in love with is alive. Your family's alive. You managed to save a good number of your district. Snow's dead. The Capitol and everything it stood for is dead. And you're even alive to see it. You're lucky Gale. So snap the hell out of it."

I turn away from her and close my eyes. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I actually like Katniss, and even though I think you're an idiot I'm asking you to go see your best friend."

I turn around. "So that stuff about touring the districts was all crap."

"Yep, pretty much."

I can't help it. I laugh. "You're crazy."

"And you're pathetic," Johanna retorts, but she's smirking again. She tilts her head up. I never noticed it, but there are little flecks of green in her eyes, like the ground of the Meadow outside District 12. "Maybe you lost the girl you love, okay? But you might still have your best friend. If you stop being an ass."

"Are you my new therapist?"

"I have experience with this sort of thing. Unless you want to talk to Aurelius in the Capitol?"

"I'll pass." I sigh deeply, shake my head. "She hates me."

"Not as much as you hate yourself."

"How do you know that?"

"Please, there's a lot of that going around lately." She holds out her hand, and I pull her off the grass. She brushes the dirt off her palms. "You better come Hawthorne, after all the effort I put in to being nice to you." She widens her eyes. "Maybe Peeta'll even bake you a cake!"

"Shut up Mason."

Johanna smiles, a genuine smile that makes her look... pretty. The ugliness of District 2 must be going to my head. "As long as she's alive Gale, you have the chance to…"

"To what?"

"To anything. Apologize, justify yourself, whatever. A lot of people are dead Gale." She forces a smile. "A lot. I even cared about a couple of them. I can never say anything to them again. Don't forget how lucky you are."

I nod slowly. "Maybe."

I don't know whether things can be fixed, after what happened. But, as crazy as she is, Johanna's right. At least I can try.


	33. Where The Heart Is

**A/N **And we're done! I had so much fun writing these, and your words of encouragement and praise mean everything to me. Thank you so, so much to everyone who favorited, alerted and of course, reviewed. I'd love to know which chapter was your favorite (or least favorite)! Thank you so much everyone.

(Quick note: I had tons of formatting issues with the previous chapter (now fixed, I hope), so please let me know if the same thing happens to this.)

This scene: **Post-MJ **Katniss and her mother let go.

**Katniss**

"I think this is a bad idea," I mutter. I lean against the counter and nibble my cheese bun before putting it down for the fourth time. It's impossible to make myself eat right now, even though I should. I don't know what Peeta would do if he found out I wasn't eating again.

"You said that already," Peeta sighs beside me, slipping an arm around my waist briefly before pulling it back. He turns around to look out the window, the sun catching his hair and turning it bright gold. Like flames. I lean against him so I don't have to see it, breathe in the scent of flour and sugar, the smells of the bakery he helped re-build once things had calmed down again. The bakery looks different from how it was, but I know it's not because Peeta can't remember what it looked like before. Just the opposite.

"Do _you _think this is a good idea?" I ask his shoulder. The sun is too hot on my cheek and I move my head into the shade. I feel Peeta's shrug.

"I think you need to do it. It's a little late to back out now, don't you think?" Clear blue eyes meet mine and he reminds me, "she's going to be here soon."

"I could just tell her to go back," I say. I turn back to the cheese bun so I don't have to see his face, gently reproachful, reminding me that I at least have a mother to talk to, even if I have nothing to say.

I hear soft knocking at the door and my head snaps up.

"I'll get it," Peeta says. His limp is barely noticeable now as he walks to the door and opens, smiles the kind of bright, genuine smile that I could never give, whether I was faking it or not. My smiles tend to come out as a grimace now, with anyone other than Peeta.

"Hi Mrs. Everdeen." He kisses her lightly on the cheek. "I'm glad you could make it."

"I wasn't-" she stops when she sees me in the kitchen, standing to the side of the sun pouring in through the window, "expecting Katniss to call."

"Peeta thought it was a good idea." He walks around Mom and pulls out a chair for her, then sits down as well. I search his eyes but they're clear and calm. No sign of anything sinister lurking in the horizon, so I figure I can spare a half-hour or so. "Let's go."

We walk in awkward silence, not at all like the quiet me and Peeta live in. It's not the quiet of shared troubles and joys, but rather the oppressive silence of a year gone by without word, the quiet that comes from a chasm between us that neither Mom nor I know how to breach. I know who could.

"You and Peeta are living together now?" Mom asks finally. Who would've thought Peeta would ever be a safe topic.

"For a while now, yeah. It's just easier this way." Easier to breathe, to pretend, to eat and sleep and act like maybe everything that happened, everything that we did was worth it. We tell ourselves that just because something's a lie now doesn't mean it always will be.

"Oh," is all Mom says as I move my burden into one arm to open the gate that leads to the Meadow. "I'm… glad."

"Yeah."

The Meadow's doesn't look like it used to, before, but the people who were here during the bombings say it's incredible it looks as good as it does. It's had help, of course. People have planted seeds of their own here, hoping that some of them will take. Maybe one day, apple trees will grow here. I see the little pine sapling Johanna planted and think that that this one, at least, will do well.

I kneel in the ground and start to dig a hole with my hands.

"Katniss-"

"What?"

"I hope that one day we'll be able to talk about her."

I stare at the dirt on my hands for a moment. Keep digging. One, two, three, four.

"I loved her too."

Ten, eleven, twelve. Mom kneels beside me, her white, long-fingered hands digging into the dirt. When she pulls her hands back, her nails are dark from the earth. She smells the same, like herbs and flowers and home. Our hands grip, for a brief moment, skin on skin, dirt mingling with dirt. Our hands look the same; mine are the same size as hers now.

I pick up the flowerpot from where I'd rested it on the ground when I'd started to dig. We dig out the primrose bush, careful not to rip the roots, and transfer it into the soil of the Meadow. Pat the earth gently, water it with the water jug I brought from home along with the pot.

We sit in front of it for a while, Mom's hand on mine. I sit there until the sun begins to set, painting the sky red as fire.

Then I go home.


End file.
